


In Ciri's Footsteps: Thedas

by Melaena



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Dragon age story with Ciri from Witcher, F/M, More tags to follow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22756522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melaena/pseuds/Melaena
Summary: A world without the Hunt? Such is the promise of Gaunter O'Dimm. The offer is simple enough. Retrieve an orb from a large gathering, and after a time, O'Dimm will return for Ciri-and the orb. With the Wild Hunt on her trail, Ciri agrees. What she discovers is another imperfect world and a puzzle to solve.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Male Adaar, more relationship tags to follow - Relationship
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50





	1. It Always Begins The Same

_It always begins the same. Even in the most temperate areas of the Realms and beyond, unnatural cold heralds the beginning of the end. Fear follows for those who know what awaits them. It starts with a shiver, a fleeting moment of recognition until it disappears, leaving confusion in its wake. The heart races, breath quickens, and defying all logic the air shifts, frigid and biting signaling the arrival of the Wild Hunt.  
  
They search for a single prize, a young woman with ashen hair and eyes of deep emerald green. Named Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon at birth, she is unlike any other. It is her blood calling_ _them through dimensions and time. For the unfortunate, the snarl of hounds and the pounding hooves of the massive mounts envelopes them until all is sudden silence. It is too late, unless you are she._

l-l-l

“Faster, Kelpie they’re coming!” Urging her horse, Ciri begged her beloved companion to carry her away before more innocents suffered. The ashen haired young woman rode-not for her life, but for the lives of others. 

Kelpie’s hooves dug deep into the dirt roads, the black mare’s frenetic pace racing faster towards the crossroads. Without warning, a man stepped into the fleeing pair’s path, threatening to upend horse and rider and sustain serious injury. Had the man not been so intent on grabbing anyone’s attention, Kelpie might have injured him, but thanks to keen eyes, the man’s frantic wave slowed them in time.

His physical appearance normal enough for the region, his yellow tunic reminded her of the wild golden fields in the northeast. The oddity of a pale blue stripe on the sleeves and around the middle struck her as unnecessarily garishness. as if the choice in color combination meant to gain attention and repel it all at once. His head almost devoid of hair and brow marked by thick black eyebrows led her attention to his deep-set dark eyes. Neither handsome nor foul, she could not explain the growing unease in the man’s presence. Steeling her demeanor, she issued a silent warning. _Caution and kindness_. 

“Careful, friend. My horse would have made you a permanent resident of these parts.” Her soft smile meant to reassure. “Are you in need of help?”

“Help, yes. But for you Cirilla, not for me.” Dark brown eyes showed no malice, but the shiver crawling up her spine echoed in Kelpie’s unrest.

_He knows me. This isn’t good_ , she thought. “You have me at a loss. It is true those in formal circles may know me as Cirilla, but a friend would know I prefer Ciri, and you strike me as neither.” Frowning, a wave of concern filled her, along with an increasing urge to draw her sword. “The question is how do _you_ know my name?” Ciri looked back over her shoulder. “I warn you, I have little time for games. Who are you?”

The man seemed unfazed, in fact his jovial smile and polite formal bow unnerved her further. “Gaunter O’Dimm, at your service—sometimes vagrant, and the occasional merchant. I am known here and there as the Merchant of Mirrors or in other places as the Man of Glass.”

“Mirrors? A merchant, you say, but without a cart or any wares? Why does this carry an air of forewarning?”

“You misunderstand, Cirilla.” O’Dimm tried to allay her concerns, holding his hands out in a pleading gesture. “I wish to offer you a most needed break.” His focus shifted far behind her; eyes narrowing. “A trade if you will; one that is limited in its availability.”

Kelpie refused to remain still, turning Ciri around; the horse’s anxious steps forced her to consider the actions a warning. “A trade? There is nothing other than a clear path that I need from you.”

Tiny white flakes fell around them, and a bitter wind pushed toward Ciri from behind her. Her breath quickened in visible bursts. Kelpie snorted, sidestepping and turning around in mounting anxiety.

“I believe there is something you need in this moment, and I can offer it to you-for a price.” Without warning, time stopped. White flakes froze mid-air; to Ciri’s left, a black crow’s body hovered by unknown means its wings stopped in flight.

Ciri swallowed hard. Her words caught as she tried to speak. “What. . .how. . .I don’t.”

 _What sort of creature is this O’Dimm? He stopped time?_ Ciri had to think fast; she concluded if he could stop time, he could speed it along, too. _I should listen, at the least._ “What is your offer?”

“A world without the Hunt, Cirilla. An imperfect world with its own trials and tribulations, but with one critical difference—the hunt cannot track you there.”

_There’s no such place,_ she thought, pausing for a moment, _but what if it were true? If I could spare the Realms for even a short while?_ “And the price?”

O’Dimm reached out to pat Kelpie, but the horse reared up and pulled away. Still, O’Dimm showed no concern. “Go to the Temple of Sacred Ashes in the mountains. There is a meeting of sorts about to take place. Someone there carried a bauble-a meaningless trinket. It is a stone orb and the only one of its kind. Retrieve it and receive the gift of blissful anonymity until such a time I come to collect it—and you.”

“And if I fail to collect this. . .orb?”

Her breath caught as O’Dimm’s eyes seemed to darken, his wicked laugh suddenly replaced with a more light-hearted sound. “Such tragedies are best left to bards and the playhouse.” 

She considered his words. “There is no doubt a trick contained within your offer, but I have little choice.” Ciri shivered. A forceful gust of glacial air carried tiny shards of ice pelting against her skin, but it was the infernal howl of hounds from the forest that hastened her decision. “May I take my horse?

“Of course, Cirilla.” He stepped closer. “Alas, we have no time to settle our agreement other than to warn you without the orb, you cannot return.”

Kelpie shook her head, snorting and preparing to bolt. “Then open the way, the Hunt arrives!”

O’Dimm raised his hand and swirling vortex of gold and black clouds churned ahead of her as the portal opened with ease. Before Ciri could ride through—it closed. She read confusion and anger on O’Dimm’s face; his convivial nature darkened concerned Ciri she’d made a grievous mistake. Shifting the bag on his shoulder, he focused ahead of him and opened the portal only to struggle as it telescoped in and out of existence.

The low growl from O’Dimm turned to a groan as the portal appeared to lock in place, but the deep violet color of the vortex caused O’Dimm to retreat, shaking his head. “That is not mine,” Ciri heard him mutter, “someone dares?”

Unwilling to risk any more time, Ciri set Kelpie toward the strange portal, riding through as O’Dimm called for her to wait.

l-l-l

The danger inherent in portal travel is always the destination. Unless the caster chooses their location with perfect accuracy, accidents occur. Ciri had no choice but to trust where she would emerge. Even taking Kelpie with her could prove a great risk _. I couldn’t leave her behind_ , Ciri thought.

At first, Ciri thought she’d failed to pass through the portal in time. Snow and ice covered everywhere she looked. And then she saw him. His bald head and pointed ears revealed little other than he could be an elf, but his strange clothing and towering staff caught her attention. The elves she knew took great pride in their appearance, venturing out in what was akin to sleepwear seemed out of place. Leaning on his staff, the elf appeared undisturbed at her emergence from the portal. His forehead wrinkled for a moment, and Ciri was sure his eyes had narrowed in recognition, but she did not know him.

_Perhaps I should try a proper greeting_ , she thought, eager to learn where she had arrived. She approached, leaving enough distance so as not to appear too eager. Raising her hand, Ciri offered a traditional greeting. Her limited knowledge of the Elder speech, spoken by scholars and sorcerers alike, might set the stranger’s mind at ease. _Hello is as good a place to start as any_ , she thought. “Ceádmil!”

The elf blinked several times, raising his hand, and returned her greeting. “Hello. I’m afraid I do not understand.”

Relief flowed through. “You speak the common tongue,” she said, “forgive me, I wished to be respectful and thought it best to try.” Ciri swung her leg around and hopped down, offering her hand. “My name is Ciri.”

The elf offered a nod and then copied her gesture. “I am called Solas, a pleasure to meet a traveler such as you Ciri.”

“A traveler?” She considered his words. “Oh, you mean the portal- wasn’t one of mine,” she said, “if I may ask, where in the Realms are we? By the snow and trees, I should guess we’re on the Isles, but it. . .how can I put this. . .feels different.”

Solas stepped closer, prompting Kelpie to stand between the strange elf and Ciri. He laughed. “I mean your rider no harm,” he said. “What a worthy companion to come to your aid; I assure you, there is nothing to fear.”

Ciri patted Kelpie’s flank and soft strokes and a light touch in her dark mane relaxed her horse. “She is. . .a dear friend.”

Once more he nodded his head before speaking. “I will assume these places you speak of are of your home, but I must concede that you, Ciri, are far from home.” He gestured to the surrounding area. “This land is Thedas, and you stand at foot of a trail. Venture north to find the Temple of Sacred Ashes or to the east to find a small hamlet called Haven.”

An absent nod and continued visual search of the woods yielding nothing familiar, Ciri wondered if perhaps the portal had delivered her to another time. “Another question, if I may?”

The elf leaned once more on his staff, and by the brightness of his expression she wondered how her predicament amused him. “Of course, please ask. If the answers are within the realm of possibility, I shall answer.”

Something in his tone reminded her of O’Dimm, Ciri thought the elf far too sure of himself. His convivial attitude and soft tone suggested a private joke and she the target. “The portal—was it yours?”

A downcast glance preceded a sobering expression. “I assure you, what brought you here is beyond my capability at the moment; although I am curious as to who sent you?”

She inhaled, and with a quick roll of her shoulders, Ciri responded. “He called himself Gaunter O’Dimm, but I suspect it to be a false name. The thing is, before I entered, he seemed to struggle with the portal, I heard him say the magic was not his. Curious, don’t you think?”

The elf laughed again, bringing a smile to Ciri’s face, she wondered if O’Dimm’s odd behavior had clouded her judgement. Solas had been cordial and polite; she admonished herself for judging the elf far too quickly. Alone in a world not her own, she would need friends. Ciri never had difficulties finding others willing to come to her aid or befriend her, and in return Ciri often extended her trust with little reservation. O’Dimm had soured her mood, and it was unfair to assume others had similar motives.

It took Solas a moment before he answered her, as if he knew she struggled with her thoughts and waited for her attention. “Most curious to find oneself in a land quite different from the one you remember and now if I may, which path calls to you?”

A clicking noise from Ciri called Kelpie closer, allowing her to grab the reins. “I have business in the Temple, but won’t be long, would you mind?” Ciri held the reins out to Solas, promising to return before dark.

He looked on her with a furrowed brow. “Are you always this trusting of strangers?”

Lightness crossed her face. “Perhaps I should be more cautious, but the sooner I conclude my business, the sooner I can return home. If I am too late, might I impose to take Kelpie to this Haven? I could pay you for your trouble.” As soon as she’d offered, Ciri realized her coin might not have any value in this land.

Waving her comment away, Solas turned toward the opposite direction. “There is no need; Kelpie will await your return.”

Her eyes brightened, and Ciri bowed to the elf. “Thank you, kind sir. I will hurry so as not to burden you for too long.” Running up the path, Ciri turned once and waved; the elf raising his hand in return before she resumed her path.

Enduring stares as she hurried past the marching lines of people, Ciri guessed her attire caught the attention of those around her. Only the slightest hint of her bare torso peeked through the Ofieri inspired vest she wore, Ciri guessed the maroon half shirt and rich blue vest might not be acceptable for women, but she hoped the scrutiny stemmed from the jeweled pauldron on her sword side and metal knee guards. _It’s not like I had time to change to proper wear, you’d think these people had seen no one like me._ Ciri contemplated a few well-placed teleports to carry her from sight, but recalled Solas and his surprise at seeing a portal. “Nothing to see here,” she huffed, “just a girl with a sword.”  
  


Ciri reached a series of stone walls leading her in the same direction as the approaching crowds. Waiting at the entrance, Ciri noted a very large and odd-looking man. _Those are horns on his head_ , she marveled, stepping back for a moment. _Where am I?_ Clad in heavy plate armor, Ciri guessed him more man than a creature and hoped he could speak. He seemed to stand guard over the entrance, and by his stare and scowl he wouldn’t be easy to sneak past.

Confident steps concealed the apprehension in her approach. Ciri stared at his blue eyes, unable to look away; she realized her rude behavior and apologized.

At first, he said nothing, glaring in response. Ciri, hoping to appear non-threatening, flashed a smile. The guard’s stern expression softened to a blank stare before he spoke. “First time seeing someone like me?”

She nodded, eyes wide. “You can talk?” Ciri scrunched her face at her slight, attempting to recover. “Of course, you can talk, I meant,” he laughed as she stumbled over words until she shrugged. “Maybe I was a little taken, I’ve never seen your equal, and it’s. . . I mean you’re fascinating.”

A richer laugh relaxed his rigid posture. “Interesting opening line, for a human. You’ve bought yourself a few minutes. Ketek Durazim Adaar and you are?”

“Well, if we are going to be formal then I am Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, but formal names can be pretentious, especially when I prefer Ciri. A bit easier to remember, don’t you think?”

“Yes, agreed.” Ketek studied her for a moment. “You aren’t a Templar and given your sword, not a mage either, so what are you?”

Unsure of his question, Ciri answered with her first thought. “Since you can tell I’m human, I guess the closest description would be a mercenary of sorts, possibly.”

“I see.” His face hardened, eyes narrowed at her admission. “I’m curious who would dare to send a pretty face carrying a sword to invade the Conclave. You were doing so well, Ciri,” he said, stepping closer. “How about the truth?”

The sudden change in his tone, cautious and guarded, prompted her to explain. “I’m here to pick up something for my employer, nothing more.”

Ketek’s hard stare shifted beyond Ciri, drawing her attention. Several humans in long robes argued with two knights; insults, swears and threats passed back and forth, their volume escalating. “That’s the fourth today,” he said, pulling out his blade. “Stay here.”

“Stay here.” She repeated his parting words, trying not to laugh. It had taken a fair amount of proving herself over the years to earn the respect of those around her, but Ciri recognized in this world, she was nothing more than she appeared. 

Considering the crowds of people congregating near the entrance, arguments and fighting would be more commonplace, despite natural barriers formed by the groups. Elves gathered in tight clusters, warriors standing guard around the bulk of their envoys.

There were dwarves, too, sturdy and strong; Ciri had to concede these dwarves of a far hardier stock than those she considered friends. Ciri scanned the crowds, and seeing none similar to Ketek, she made a mental note to ask him upon his return. Humans separated themselves in unknown groups; she guessed perhaps they gathered based on factions or classes, considering their dress.

The nobles in all their finery left little guesswork, using their personal guards to push through crowds moving closer to the entrance. The argument interrupted her cursory investigation, noting Ketek did not try to hurry. “He’d said this was the fourth argument he’d seen. Maybe this is normal here?”

Across the entryway, Ciri read the anger rising in the two knights. When one drew his sword and advanced, she shouted at the pair and teleported in time to block his blow. She couldn’t hold the knight long; his strength far superior to hers. Ciri’s move gave the robed duo behind her a chance to escape. Losing ground, she’d have to concede and hope to teleport free before the knight could attack.

“Ciri, don’t! Stand down.” Ketek’s warning resonated, prompting Ciri to relax first, dodging the knight’s swing and stowing her sword; she knew better than to struggle when the knights took hold of her arms on either side.

Ketek held a massive axe in front of her and her captors, his voice commanding attention. “You dare insult a guest of the Divine?”

The Templars looked to her and then back. “The mage attacked!”

“She is an honored guest. Release her.”

A moment of confusion passed, but the knights released her. Silent words of thanks filled her thoughts, watching Ketek stare down the knights until they returned to a gathering of similarly clad fellows.

“You lied for me, Ketek," Ciri said, “why would you do that?”


	2. Within Hallowed Halls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ketek Adaar seems to be an ally for Ciri, but he still wants answers. The question is, how much can Ciri tell him and will he let her search for the orb?

A familiar scent called to Ciri from the Temple corridors; a reminder of her lessons in Ellander as a child. Melitele’s Temple on the outskirts of the city always burned fragrant wood in its pyres, thought to invoke reflection.

Closing her eyes, Ciri inhaled slow and deep, allowing the aroma to envelop her senses. _It reminds me of juniper_. Its hearth burned scent conjured images of a peaceful sun-warmed forest. Ciri missed home, but the sacrifice of her absence protected those she loved and the innocent from her pursuers. She hoped O’Dimm had spoken true and the Hunt would not follow her to these lands.

Ketek cleared the room, sending another like him to the front gates. “They’re fighting like dogs—fair warning. Try to keep the Templars from killing the mages and the reverse,” he said, “if they balk, throw them out.”

She watched the group file out of the room, all of them standing several heads above her, each with horns of varied lengths and styles. Intimidating in appearance, Ciri was not prepared when a few greeted her as they departed, her eyes following them out the door. The room emptied, and she faced Ketek, his large frame seated in a chair, boots propped atop the table. “Careful, I’m the jealous type. At least wait until we get to know one another before you admire others.” He grinned. “Please, join me,” he gestured to an empty chair.

_He's charming, I’ll give him that_ , Ciri thought _. But it’s clear he’s still wary._ She sat quickly, but still fidgeted for a moment before settling. 

Despite his near constant smile, she read Ketek’s anxiety. He tried to hide it from her, but Ciri could see the tension in the corded muscles of his neck. His hands balled into fists tightening just before he spoke. “Who are you, Ciri?” His feet dropped to the floor, shifting his body forward. “You’ve never seen a Qunari before, you don’t know what a Templar or a mage is, and you dress as though you come from the wastes or the approach carrying nothing other than a sword. Yet you bear the scars of a warrior,” he said, gesturing to the long facial scar across her cheek. “To answer your earlier question, I lied because I could not let the Templars interfere. You are here for _some_ purpose, and I intend to discover whatever you are hiding.”

_Patience_ , she cautioned herself, _he’s fishing_. “Is that what race you are or is that your homeland? A. . .what was it?”

“Qunari. Perhaps it is a mere label, but I didn’t grow up under the watchful eyes of the Qun. My parents lived as Vashoth in the Free Marches.” He gestured around him. “You sit in the offices of the Valo-kas, we keep the peace here under the Divine’s request.” He leaned back once more. “You have no idea what I am talking about, do you?”

Ciri shrugged. “None, I’m afraid. Do all have horns, like yours?” She started to point and quickly added. “Are my questions considered rude? If so, please tell me.”

“Like mine? Nope,” he said, keeping his gazed fixed on her. “You never answered my question.”

“Which was it?” She didn’t excel at verbal misdirection, and suspected she’d have to offer some explanation sooner or later.

“Hey now, I’ve been polite, even charming, how about one straight answer?” He crossed his arms. “My gut tells me you don’t belong here, and I’m not talking about the temple, but you’re not supposed to be in Thedas. Am I getting close?”

_Well? Now what?_ “I owe you an explanation, and I promise I’ll do my best to have it all make sense, but it this common? Do you have visits from others out of place—like me—is that why you don’t seem concerned.”

“Like you?” He exhaled noisily. “No,” he said. “We’ve a dwarven thief running the halls, she thinks we do not know her, but when one of the Carta invades peace talks, you remain silent and watch carefully. There are two more that have earned my attention-also women. One, a noble and a Templar at that, broke up another skirmish just yesterday. The final strange guest one elf, I can never tell the tribes apart, and that is not a slight, but a fact. She complained about the segregation of her delegation. Three women all unrelated, yet all out of place, and now you, Ciri.”

“Perhaps it is merely your fascination with women and nothing sinister at all.” She tried to put his concerns to rest. “I only just arrived in Thedas this morning. I learned of the Temple from my employer and the direction from a rather helpful elf in the woods.” 

He reared back, surprised at her admission. “Arrived from where? The nearest port is days from here, am I to believe you simply appeared out of the air?”

“More or less,” she offered. Ciri wondered if she could show Ketek a portal. “I arrived by portal, although I fully admit not one of my own making and sadly, I don’t know if I can show you.” She stood; giving a quick shake of her arms before Ciri thought about the destination of Haven. She’d not seen it, nor did she know where it sat except opposite her location. Unsafe at best, she thought to warn Ketek. “If this works, please don’t step inside, I am unsure where it might send you.”

“Send me?”

The crack in time and space opened a swirling cloud of gold and black, the power of its appearance sending a gust of air throughout the room. The materialization caught him unprepared and Ketek fell back in his chair and scrambled away, his voice hushed, filled with wonder. “Where does it lead?” Parchment pages flew about the room. An unseen force rattled the table and chairs.

A resounding crack and clenched fist from Ciri restored the room to its former calm as the portal vanished. “I couldn’t say, I don’t know Thedas well enough, and I should think to be careful.” Hurrying to lend him a hand, Ciri apologized. “I’ll give a little more warning next time.” Upon returning to her chair, Ciri turned. “When I blinked toward the Templars, that was normal to your eyes, but this,” she gestured to where the portal had stood, “this was new?”

Straightening his tunic, Ketek shook the stupor from his face. “Blinked? When you streaked ahead of me to stay their strike? Is that more magic?”

Ciri nodded, not in response, but in understanding. “Mage. Magic. Those who can use magic are known as mages? Then what are Templars?”

He stared at her for a moment. “I need a drink, and you need a quick lesson in Thedas if you’re to stay.”

Backing away, she raised her hands. “No, I can’t stay, it’s too dangerous for you and others if I remain too long, I need to retrieve my employer’s property and then get back home.”

“Ciri this is Thedas, nothing is _ever_ easy.” He tilted his head, a grin capturing his face in the torch light. “Come on, I’ll bet you one round I can have you Thedas ready by the next shift change.”

“Are you telling me a sacred temple has a tavern?”

The way he roared with laughter pulled her in. I _f the people here were even half as engaging as he is, I’ll enjoy my time here._

“I like the way you think, Ciri. Of course, there isn’t a tavern, but I know my men and I’d bet two nugs one of them smuggled something in. What kind of leader would I be if I didn’t prevent a potentially embarrassing situation? Call it a spot check,” he said with a wink.

“What’s a nug?” _Are nugs the currency?_

Digging through packs and bags, Ketek spoke over his shoulder. “Ugly little creature, pink with huge ears and these,” he turned to face her, wiggling his fingers, “odd. . . toes.” He returned to his search, talking over his shoulder. “You’re a woman, so you’ll probably think it’s adorable and want one for a pet.” He continued to dig as he rambled on. “I don’t understand what about the animal appeals, wretched thing looks like someone shaved some poor creature and left it bare. They’re harmless, unless you’re not careful. A few can turn into a horde in a short period, they’ll eat their weight in whatever they can find, but nothing truly dangerous.”

Ciri heard the clink of glass against metal, and with a shout, Ketek lifted a bottle in his hands. “Ha! I knew one of them would try.”

Ketek raised the misshapen dark bottle; Ciri could see the liquid contents jostled within from the firelight. “Success?” She had reservations about overindulging in unknown drink. In the Realms, drink was normal and constant for a few reasons, mainly because no one ever knew if the water was safe. Alcohol, on the other hand, could disinfect, cleanse and despite its often-overpowering strength, at least it was relatively safe to drink. 

She’d developed a preference for the heavier spirits over the sweetness of wine, but this wasn’t the time for drinking and cavorting. _I’ve got to find the orb and soon._ The problem was, it sounded as though the event wouldn’t commence for a day or two. _I guess I’m stuck here. I hope Kelpie is all right._

Watching Ketek slam the bottle on the table, her apprehension grew. “What exactly is it?”

He winked holding up his index finger. “A test.” Gripping the stopper, a brief grunt followed by a loud pop caught her attention and Ketek slid the bottle toward her.

“A little early, isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. If you prefer, you can refuse, I won’t take it as an insult.”

Lifting the bottle she sniffed, the contents had a slight spicy aroma. “There’s some kind of spice in this, I can’t place the scent. May I?” She held up the bottle asking if she could try it.

A small gulp burned only slightly as it passed her tongue and throat. She wiped her mouth with the back of hand. “It’s sweeter than I thought,” she said, and cleared her throat a moment later. “There’s a bit of a kick at the end.” She slid the bottle back to him, his jaw open and fixed. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Marry me,” Ketek said, taking the bottle back.

Laughing, Ciri didn’t follow the joke. “Because I drank that? Ketek, where I come from, we have many waterways. The problem is when the waters are home to monsters, body dumps and. . .well, things best left unsaid, you get used to alcohol.” She smiled. “I know of one such brand in Novigrad, a little stronger than that, given to babes who are teething.” She wondered if her words had offended. “Don’t get me wrong, it's good, but I’ve had far more potent spirits.”

“A place where strong women and stronger spirits prevail, I should like to visit a place like this.”

She read the fascination in his eyes, the eager lean toward her. She guessed it wasn’t about her as much as the adventure that had hooked him. Ciri slipped easily into a friendly tease. “So much for _my_ appeal.”

“She flirts, too.” Ketek leaned back in his chair. “I think I’m in love.” His expression seized, a sudden somberness taking him. “You’re almost too perfect, and as much fun as this has been, I have to ask—who exactly are you Ciri?”

She’d been through this before. Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Lion Cub of Cintra, heiress to the throne of Cintra, —with more titles to follow— tried to hide from two things in her life:the relentless pursuit of the Wild Hunt and its leader Eredin, and her birthright. “If you truly wish to know, I will tell you, but I do not think you will believe me.”

“Try me,” he said, “let me put it another way. Convince me you are to be trusted as my head is telling me to trust you, but my gut that warns me that trouble shadows your footsteps.”

She sighed, resting her hands on the table. Ciri stared at the nicked and chipped wood, searching for the right opening. “It all started when a man with white hair lifted a curse.”

Ciri told her story, skipping through most of her years, dwelling only on those events she felt would prove her sincerity and her identity.

l-l-l

Ketek sat in silence, listening, held by her story as she recounted her childhood and growing older. Tales of men made and not born, magic of strengths not heard of in Thedas, beasts and creatures deadlier than those he’d seen in his travels. To be hunted, chased and sought by those wishing to use her with nowhere to turn.

She spoke of a white-haired man with such affection and reverence numerous times. Geralt, she’d said. A sharp stab punctured his hope of knowing more of her until she named him a friend, guardian and even a father. Names and places painted endless pictures of snow-covered mountains, wide seas and endless fields. Within each pause and breath questions filled his head; the need to know more almost overwhelming his manners, but Ketek remained silent, absorbing every word and image she offered. 

He felt a surge of emotion, listening to her speak of the relentless drive of a madman seeking her blood. Ciri needed his help, not his doubt. And then she explained the reasons. Prophecies, legends, bloodlines laid at his feet, guilt clenching his chest tighter at questioning her. Ketek tried to stop her from continuing, but Ciri didnt stop. She spoke of a frantic flight on the beautiful black mare, her closest friend who’d kept her safe; the two interrupted by the sudden and strange appearance of a bald man seeking a trinket. A simple transaction in exchange for freedom from her pursuers. 

When Ciri finished, she fell back against the chair, the glisten of tears accentuated by torchlight. At first, Ketek found he could not speak; standing to gain control of his emotions, he cleared his throat. “Allow me to find a room for you, my lady. You should rest before we search for your trinket. Tomorrow more guests arrive, and the Conclave will begin the day after.”

Her wearied thanks met with renewed warmth from him. “Wait here.” Closing the door behind him, Ketek grabbed one of his men, placing him at the door. “No one enters, got it?”

Walking with purpose, Ketek had no doubts he’d be able to find Ciri at least a small room to rest. She couldn’t stay with the Valo-kas; her presence would attract too much attention. There was one truth to the nobility class of Thedas, and he counted on that in his search. No noble would ever admit to the unfamiliarity of another in their standing. He couldn’t offer Ciri’s true title. It held little weight, and there sat only one Empress in Thedas, claiming a second would create too much trouble. His swift steps toward the man hired to organize the visiting dignitaries barely gave him time to concoct his story.

The door held a parchment explaining no room changes were possible and requested all callers to return in the morning. Ketek fought the urge to rip the paper off its pin, but knocked with purpose instead. “Open up.”

“Return tomorrow.” A weakened voice called from within.

“We’ve got a problem. It’s Ketek Adaar, don’t make me kick the door in.” The prospect of doing as he threatened didn’t appeal; he didn’t feel like answering to the Divine for damaging the Temple.

Metal scraped against metal, the latch freeing the door. “What kind of problem?”

“There’s a Duchess from Antiva in the Valo-kas quarters, two Templars already tried to attack her when she blocked their advance on two mages, and she lost her belongings after arriving. We need a room for her, now. She’s relatively calm, but I can attest the lady is tired and requires our help.”

Hurrying to his desk, the man shifted pages complaining about the state of things. “Maker preserve us, those Templars will incite a larger war if they attack the nobility.” The man shuffled through more papers and maps. “I have something, but it's rather small, but if she carries little—”

Sliding the paper toward him, Ketek spoke over the man’s words. “It’ll do.” He studied the drawing. “Right off the main hall, last on the left. Thanks.” 

Ketek’s brash and overly direct method of facing a problem often led him into trouble, and he wondered if he’d gone too far. A half beat of his heart later, Ketek dismissed the thought. Ciri hadn’t lied. Her words were true and deep; he read the truth in her eyes, pain and guilt hidden behind vibrant green. She hadn’t asked for his help; he’d guessed Ciri preferred to carry her burden alone. By the time he reached the Valo-kas quarters, he’d decided. He’d help her find the orb, and after the Conclave, see her home.

l-l-l

“We’ve got a tail,” Ciri whispered, back pressed against the wall. They’d searched nearly every room and corner with no sign of the stone orb, but the scraping sound of a metal breastplate against pauldrons echoed in the cavernous storage room, a clear sign of the lurker.

An annoyed grunt preceded his hushed warning to stay put, Ketek stepping out in the open floor. “Time to reveal yourself; you’ve followed me long enough.” 

A figure stepped near a burning torch; the soft light illuminated a feminine face. Clad in full formal armor, a Templar held a short sword at the ready. “You—Valo-kas— where is the mage?”

Crossing his arms, Ketek’s raised chin and wide stance a silent challenge. “You, Templar, are out of your jurisdiction and in violation of the treaty. No weapons are to leave the private quarters and yet you stand before me pointing a blade?”

The standoff continued until the Templar sheathed the sword and raised her hands in a slight gesture of compliance. “Where is the woman? She attacked two of my fellow Templars—“

Ciri stormed out into the open. “I attacked? Could it be that quite possibly your fellow Templars have it wrong? They advanced on the unarmed civilians. I merely blocked the blow. If it is the custom of these lands to attack innocents at will, then I should never have yielded.” Ciri’s rigid stance and tight fists held her anger in place. Ketek broke his posture long enough to shift in front of Ciri, a warning to the Templar.

“Then the information I received was false and I apologize.” The Templar stepped forward hand extended, “Allow me to start over. My name is Ser Evelyn of Ostwick. My family name is Trevelyan.”


	3. The Players Take Their Marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri has begun to collect a diverse group around her. While discussing the conclave with Ketek Adaar and Evelyn Trevelyan, another uninvited guest joins the small group. Caught wandering the halls, Ketek gives Malika Cadash a chance to remain at the temple and help them search out what the Wardens may be hiding. None of them are aware of yet one more who shadows Ciri's steps through the temple corridors, and has decided to grab Ciri's prize before her.

Ciri’s quarters were cramped, but Ketek insisted they speak in hushed voices, the most recent to join them sharing what she’d discovered. Evelyn recounted what she had witnessed while searching for Ciri.

“I’ve met Grey Wardens before, and most seemed at least relatively polite, a few gruff words on occasion, but nothing like this,” she explained. “They carried a case made from obsidian or onyx perhaps, but definitely ancient. They paraded themselves toward a back room, but when I tried to follow, one of their numbers pushed me aside. It was rather rude. I understand their need to keep secrets, but shoving me aside? That’s not the behavior one expects from the Wardens.”

Evelyn continued to share her discoveries; each new revelation adding to Ciri’s concern. _A simple retrieval is turning into a far more difficult prospect_ , she thought, rubbing her temples. “The Wardens are responsible for what?”

From his resting spot against the wall Ketek interrupted. “That’s not as important as the box, Ciri. I’ll explain more later, right now what we need is a thief, someone who can sneak past the Wardens and get inside, and I know exactly where to find one.”

l-l-l

Outside the room, an uninvited guest decided she’d lingered long enough; Malika Cadash had followed the three to the ashen haired woman’s room hoping to listen in. She’d guessed the mercenary had made her already; his uncanny sense about people carried to her as well, but the three seemed odd enough to earn her attention. “Well, shit,” she said, opting to take the longer way around the temple. She’d tried to keep ahead of him since her arrival, but every time she turned around, there he was, watching her.

Malika infiltrated the Conclave to look for informational leverage. The sooner the war between the mages and Templars ended, the Carta could renew the profits lost thanks to the fighting. Her mission required the freedom to pass unseen; this had been difficult with the merc watching her movements, and she’d had to delay. Confident she’d avoided detection this time, Malika decided to hide until nightfall.

She rounded a corner and walked straight into a wall, disorienting her for a moment. Clearing her head with a shake, she groaned, Malika’s eyes focused on the two black hide boots standing where she’d impacted. _Shit_ , she thought, _here it comes_.

“Going somewhere—thief?”

Malika huffed; the force of her exhale sending her auburn bangs from her eyes. She’d been caught and that meant expulsion from the Conclave. She’d not lifted anything yet, which meant the merc standing in front of her wouldn’t be able to prove a thing. “Since when is walking around a crime?” She punctuated her question with a sharp tug on her tunic.

“You’re a Cadash,” the merc leader said. “That fact alone is enough.”

House Cadash had a reputation; under normal circumstances, Malika took that notoriety as a point of pride. Long before Malika’s birth, members of her bloodline had angered the stone loving righteous in Orzammar. A few minor transgressions, as her father referred to them, had found the family among the casteless.

Her ancestors refused to accept the punishment and applied their resources and strengths to the lyrium trade, building a new name and legacy. They were Carta, and untouchable. The problem of the mage and Templar war had slowed their profits and raised cause for concern. Malika had little to do with lyrium, but she’d been trained well. _Secrets have power_ , her father had taught her, _and everyone has a breaking point—a weakness to be exploited. The trick is, how to do it without your mark knowing what you are doing until it’s too late._

Malika had to find a way out; she had little to offer the merc, but knowing their goal, she had an idea.

“I’m here to lend my support for an end to the war,” she said. “My family’s intentions are true.” She guessed the merc knew all about her family business, his disbelief carried in blatant accusations.

“Cut the crap. You’re here because the lyrium trade is suffering, and no one is buying.”

_Shit, he knows. Time to try something else_. Raising her hands in concession as she backed away, Malika admitted to the merc’s concerns, but offered what she discovered. “The box you’re looking for,” she said, staring up at the merc, “the Wardens have it guarded, and I mean guarded. It’s never left without two of them standing near, it’s impossible to get close, even for me.”

She’d never had much exposure to the Qunari before; they seemed to have little use for anyone on the outside, and Malika learned from a young age to steer clear. The mercs at the Conclave functioned differently than she’d expected; they appeared to act like everyone else, not like the dangerous zealots her father had warned against.

Malika could see the merc trying to work through a problem. Problems were her specialty and with that realization, Malika had something to trade for her freedom. “I’m Malika,” she said, keeping her voice light. “I may not be able to get the box, but I may be able to get you information.” She stepped closer checking the corridor. “Would that buy me a blind eye?”

“Ketek Adaar, but I suspect you already know that. Help won’t buy you a blind eye, but sharing information will keep you from getting tossed and banned.”

She laughed, taking in his offer. “Actually, I didn’t know your name; I wasn’t interested in introductions when I arrived, but I accept. I’d prefer to get what I came for and not get tossed, and if that choice of words is some kind of sick dwarf humor, you can save it. I’ve heard far worse.”

Ketek shrugged. “It wasn’t; you’re tall for a dwarf.”

Malika had heard it all her life, her brother even teased her she must have had a human mother, even though as his twin, it wasn’t possible, just weird luck. She had a few inches on him, but Malika didn’t see it, and figured he was jealous of her height. “Yeah, well, you’re kind of short for a Qunari.”

A hearty laugh and a gesture called Malika to follow. “Nice.” Ketek explained only bits and pieces of the situation as they walked toward Ciri’s room. Pausing outside the door, Ketek offered one piece of advice. “Watch out for the Templar. I doubt she has a sense of humor.”

l-l-l

Listening to explanations of orders and factions and power shifts made Ciri’s head a muddled mess. Eyes closed, she raised her hands and tried to gather her thoughts. “Now, just. . .hold on!” She pushed her hands through the air; a futile attempt to force order into the chaotic mess of information thrown at her. “I believe it may be better to wait until this conclave or meeting or whatever it is ends, and then I can retrieve the orb.”

Malika spoke first. “That might be too late. I caught the end of a discussion; the Wardens plan to move to the west immediately after some ritual.”

Moved by the revelation shared, Evelyn and Ketek stood as one, but Ketek offered his thoughts first. “I’ve got to find the emissary of the Divine; this isn’t good news.” Asking the group to stick together, he assured them of a swift return. When Evelyn tried to follow, Ketek refused. “Stay and keep watch.”

Evelyn Trevelyan didn’t take to being ordered around by others. “I am not one of your men to command.”

Rather than argue, he moved aside allowing Evelyn to follow him out into the corridor before closing the door behind them. “Look, you’re right. You’re not one of my men, but you are a Templar and it is your responsibility to protect others, right? That woman in there is far from home, sent here on a questionable errand and hasn’t asked for a thing from any of us, but let me ask you, why are you still here?”

Evelyn opened her mouth to respond and then closed it stepping back. He understood her silence.

Sure, he found Ciri attractive; he’d never really paid much attention to humans before, but there was something he couldn’t explain. Something in his thoughts had convinced him to help her even though she didn’t ask. “You feel it, don’t you? She doesn’t belong, and it falls to you to help her get home, right?”

“How could you possibly know my thoughts?”

For a moment, Ketek let down his public guard, the face he wore for every job and allowed Evelyn to see him. “I know because I have them too. Now, if these Wardens are planning a ritual when the Divine is mediating peace talks, I believe it is our duty to inform her emissaries and put an end to it. I am asking you to watch over Ciri. Will you help me?”

“Yes,” Evelyn’s choked reply startled him. Her demonstrative persona had fallen away at his admission. “I will . . .I will stand here and wait.”

“Thank you, Ser Evelyn.”

l-l-l

“Haven?” Malika couldn’t grasp why the Divine’s emissaries weren’t at the Temple. “There’s nothing there now but a frozen lake and people deemed too unimportant for the Conclave,” she said leaning against the wall.

From her position at the door Evelyn scoffed. “You mean none cared to speak with a smuggler peddling stolen goods.”

Eyes narrowed at the accusation, but even in the dim light Malika’s dark gaze focused on the fair skinned Templar. “Listen. Not all of us were born with wealth and privilege. My family worked for a living rather than buy its favors and status.”

Armor shifted and scraped as Evelyn’s posture stiffened. “How dare you!”

The argument between Malika and Eveylyn continued; Ketek’s ability to keep the group civil diminished considerably in his absence, leaving Ciri to a mounting headache as she tried to make sense of her predicament. 

Head pounding, her respectful request for quiet went unheeded. Rather than join the fracas, Ciri excused herself in search of a quieter spot. Back home, one of both or the squabbling women she left in her room would likely turn up dead for such insults, but Ciri suspected Thedas had not yet moved to such extremes.

Even passing others in the corridors, her awareness of eyes and curious stares unsettled her. _If I was home, perhaps then it wouldn’t bother me_ , she thought, _but here I am on display_. Ciri guessed the attention had more to do with her odd dress and facial scar. Her pale hair was not uncommon; she’d seen men and women on her trek up the path with the very same color. The scar she guessed far less common among women of this land.

Instinct lifted her left hand to her face, a fingertip tracing the deep crease carved from beneath her eye, sloping across her cheek and past her ear. She’d gained the mark from the blade of an orion during her incarceration at a village in Ebbing. The path the throwing star etched on her face a lasting reminder of the Realms and its political struggles. 

As she wandered the corridors, a knot formed in her core. _Magic_ , she thought, _it has to be_. It pulled her, trying to tether her to its strength. She navigated the corridors without knowing her destination letting the source of the power guide Ciri’s steps. _I’ve never experienced this before, it seeks something or someone._

Ciri likened the sensations to that of her ability to open portals. She could never quite put it into words. Somewhere within the temple the means to open pathways called to her, and she wondered if it were beacon or warning.

She halted her steps. O’Dimm had lied to her; Ciri guessed it would be a matter of time before the Hunt found her even on this world, but there was nothing else similar to the Hunt’s usual breach from their realm. The way the air bristled as they tore through the dimensions; their passage was a violent act of destruction. Ciri and others like her understood what their actions meant. Portals weren’t natural or elemental, but a tear connecting worlds; a connection forged where none should be.

Her pulse sped turning down what looked to be a dead end; a large room at the end of the hall was flanked by two men in unfamiliar armor. Unlike Evelyn, the rich blue color of the padded armor was dotted with rows of silver studs. Plated armor slats draped from a belt around the hip, and an ornate breastplate sat fastened from the shoulder. _Serious armor_ , Ciri thought, _best not to get too close, neither of them look to be willing to entertain a conversation._

Keeping out of sight, Ciri felt certain she’d found O’Dimm’s orb; what troubled her stemmed from the heavily armored men guarding what O’Dimm claimed to be nothing more than a trinket. _Tomorrow_ , Ciri thought, _tomorrow I will return_.

l-l-l

The Valo-kas envoy turned back halfway to Haven, the continued arguments between mages and Templars necessitated intervention well into the night. At the Temple, Ketek had little luck in convincing the Divine to postpone the Conclave; the Most Holy refused to believe anything untoward would dare to invade the peace talks and reminded the mercenary of his responsibilities to keep the people safe.

_Keep the people safe_ , he thought, returning to the staging room where his men waited, _how am I supposed to do that, when the Wardens are clearly hiding something. I need to get in that room._

Stepping inside, Ketek explained what he knew, and what they expectations for the start of the talks the following day placed on each of them. He almost accepted the suggestion of using force to enter the Wardens room at the far end of the temple, but others voiced valid concerns about inciting a battle right under the Divine’s nose. He hoped to enlist the help of the dwarf and the Templar to keep an eye on Ciri. Given what he’d seen of her tenacity, Ketek couldn’t be sure Ciri would exercise any level of patience.

l-l-l

Ellana Lavellan watched the qunari enter the merc’s room. She’d been warned to steer clear of the mercs by the Keeper lest she be discovered as false. Her mission had been clear, hide within the ranks of another clan and observe everything. If all proceeded as planned, Ellana would depart after the first day and return home. She’d seen the female dwarf shadow the strange collection of individuals, all deferring to the woman with white hair. Stranger still was the human in the odd clothing- a mage using a sword? The flash of magic had not been Ellana’s mistake, the young woman had used a magic unfamiliar to her, but still stood against the Templar with a sword. 

She’d gathered bits and pieces of the group’s conversation, the human woman searched for something within the corridors of the temple, and the group seemed poised to help. Was she a noble or an envoy? Ellana’s observations of the woman had carried her through darkened halls and around blind corners, but her clandestine moves had yielded the prize. An object rested in a room guarded by Grey Wardens.

Ellana’s skills far surpassed the dwarf; she could get into the room unseen and retrieve whatever rested within and escape with perhaps a bargaining tool for her clan. Checking her surroundings, Ellana decided her course of action for the following day; she would enter the guarded room.


	4. A Tear In The Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri meets yet another guest at the conclave, but the circumstances are less than ideal. Despite her concerns, the orb beckons, urging Ciri to make an uncertain alliance and retrieve the item. When her plans sour, Ciri sends the others through a portal just before the temple explodes.

Ellana Lavellan returned to her delegation the previous night to wild tales of the ashen haired woman who stood against the Templars with both magic and a sword. Claims circulated among their number that the young woman could be Asha’bellanar, the woman of many years in disguise, or one of her daughters come to watch over them in these dark times. 

She seemed human. Ellana had argued, only to be silenced by the majority. At first, she ignored their dismissal, but Ellana would not concede. _Asha’bellanar is no human._ Her convictions grew as the night wore on until Ellana refused to accept the conclusion. She would prove them wrong.

It was this conviction that carried her through the halls to where the young woman rested. Nobility from Antiva, she’d overheard. _If that woman is Antivan, I will eat my shoes._ Ellana had no plan, sliding the thin metal blade through the hidden sheath on her belt. She would not seek the woman’s blood, only the truth. Located at the far end of a long corridor, the solitary room would not see much foot traffic in the pre-dawn hours. Preparing herself, Ellana stopped before the closed door and settled on her feet. The latch disengaged without a sound under Ellana’s practiced hand, with slow caution she opened the door.

l-l-l

Ciri might have missed the quiet dawn had it not been for squeaking hinges and a curious elf. Inside the small room, Ciri opened her eyes. Years of sleeping attuned to the smallest sound woke her when the latch scratched against its catch. Even the squeak of an old rusted hinge pin roused Ciri to full awareness. The room was small, likely a storage closet of a type with only the cot she rested on and a single chair inside. Her weapons and harness rested on the chair, out of reach.

Her training took over; Ciri had learned from the best, even if his methods made little sense at the time.

_“Again, Ciri,” the white-haired man shouted across the field. “Stop telling me what you plan to do! Don’t think, do it.”_

_Geralt’s idea of training consisted of him sitting under a tree with a bottle in his grip. “Shouting at me isn’t helping!” She heard him laugh, and in that action set her aggravation to rise. “I hate it when he’s smug like that,” she muttered._

_“I heard that,” he replied, his laughter renewed._

_Grumbling, Ciri focused her frustration toward him. Sword at the ready she moved through the space in a blink of blue and white knocking the bottle from his grip; it rolled down the incline and away from them, leaving her standing firm, her sword inches from his chest._

_Geralt grinned. “Better. Do it again and this time, don’t take your anger out on the bottle.”_

The ability to move or blink, as she’d called it, required nothing other than her focus and will. Ciri had never tried to blink while resting, but with her senses primed and muscles tensed and poised to strike, she held little doubt to her chances of subduing whoever thought to sneak into her room.

Hyper focused on the opening door, Ciri’s eyes locked on a boot tip sliding through the open door. If she spoke, warning the intruder might scare them and Ciri wanted answers, not more questions. _That’s it_ , she thought, the boot tip giving way to a leg slipping in through the door, _a little more_. Clearing her mind, Ciri remained still, her breathing imperceptible.

Slender limbs and graceful moves carried the intruder through the door as Ciri’s body moved with blinding speed and grabbed the intruder, pressing them into the wall and closing the door in the same movement. Sliding the latch into place, Ciri stared at her attacker.

An elf by the pointed ears, Ciri recognized feminine features covered by an intricate facial tattoo. On the right side, her head clean shaven, revealing the intricate curving lines inked on her face reaching as a winding vine with curls and branches ending in a single point at her chin. It was the left side that drew Ciri’s attention. The entirety of the left appeared a mirrored opposite. Dark vines became white against a canvas of darker ink covering half the elf’s face, and black hair falling free to the chin line. Thin lips pressed together, and jaw muscles clenched; it was the elf’s eyes that spoke loudest without words, a steeled glare- glacial and directed at Ciri left little doubt to the elf’s mood.

“Release me,” she demanded.

Ciri had to consider the consequences of releasing the elf. The small knife in her hand was no welcome gift. Keeping her tone free of any anger, Ciri hoped to diffuse the situation over an escalation. “Drop your weapon, and I’ll consider it.” 

“Very well.”

The clatter of the small blade against stone allowed Ciri to shift with the elf until her foot could cover the knife. “Why did you seek my blood?”

The elf’s hardened expression changed, and she raised her hands in concession. “I am. . .forgive me. I see what this may have looked like to you. My name is Ellana and I swear on my life I had no intentions to take yours. I. . .that is. . .are you she of many years? Are you _Asha’bellenar_?”

The eagerness in the elf’s face piqued Ciri’s curiosity, but her query demanded a swift and respectful answer. The utterance of the name carried a feeling of respect and even deep reverence, “I am not,” she said, releasing Ellana from her grip. Ciri expected Ellana might bolt from the room, but when nothing happened, Ciri offered her hand. “You can call me Ciri, if you like. I am a traveler and admit your Thedas is wonderful, but so very confusing and new. Who is the woman Asha-“

“Perhaps a story for another time. I should go.” Ellana opened her mouth and then shook her head.

“What is it?” Ciri wanted to press Ellana for answers but knowing her plan to get to the Warden’s room, a prolonged conversation wasn’t wanted.

“That room,” Ellana said, “The Warden’s room. I saw you there.”

Ciri guessed as much, wondering if her excursion had invited Ellana’s intrusion. “There is something inside that I need to return to my home.”

Ellana peered around the door, and then met Ciri’s eyes. “You cannot trust anyone here. Everyone here has their own agenda, plans within plans,” she paused, “even me, but you will need eyes at your back. If I help you, will you help me?”

“Then why should I trust you?” Ciri kept her attention on Ellana _. I could use a lookout. But does it really make sense to trust her?_

“You shouldn’t,” Ellana said. “but since our paths converge, I swear I bear no ill will. Would you trust an oath from an elf?”

“An oath is an oath; it doesn’t matter who speaks it.” Ciri had little time, she’d already lingered too long. _Ellana isn’t very forthcoming with answers and explanations. I know I should refuse, but I am certain she can hold her own in a fight—if it comes to that._ Ciri held out her hand. “All right, I accept.”

l-l-l

The knot in Ciri’s stomach tightened on the approach to the Warden’s room; the tension in her body wrought tight, when Ellana touched her shoulder Ciri jumped. 

“The compulsion to flee is strong,” Ellana said, “what kind of magic is this?”

 _So it is not just me_ , Ciri thought, _I may be in over my head._ Whatever rested inside the room grew stronger, and Ciri couldn’t help the feeling it reached for her. In her concern, Ketek’s face flashed in Ciri’s mind. “We need help,” she whispered. Pulling Ellana aside, Ciri instructed Ellana to find the Valo-Kas mercenary; he’d know what to do.

Ciri huffed, and the hair that had fallen into her face moved for a moment. A few quick exhales meant to steady her nerves. This wasn’t her home, and she knew it. There would be no aid from those who loved her, no words of wisdom from those who guided her. Hiding in a blind corner, Ciri closed her eyes for a moment and heard the one voice that could settle her. Geralt. There was nothing frightening about him. Despite the golden yellow eyes and scarred face, he had nothing but kindness and a fond way of making her laugh. She needed his strength in this endeavor. _Hey, you’ve got this._ She heard his deep voice in her head. _It’ll be all right._

“I hope so,” Ciri said, catching the sign of movement to her left. Ellana had found , and he’d in turn brought the rest of their small group.

Evelyn pushed her way through to stop before Ciri. “This elf claims the magic they are using is strong.”

Ciri nodded. “It feels . . . wrong, if that makes any sense. It doesn’t belong here,” she said, finishing her words silently. _Like me_.

The group exchanged looks, promising their help.

After a few moments of hushed discussions, Ciri and Ketek took the lead with the other three close behind. The plan seemed simple enough; when the group moved closer to the door, they would ascertain the situation and then decide how to act. 

The plan fell apart when a deep voice spoke within the room. Ketek instructed the others to flee, charging Evelyn with their safety leaving the two. “Well, Ciri. We can charge in, but we don’t know how many or what they may be doing.”

She hushed him, her eyes widening. Something was very wrong inside the room. “The leader, he used the word _sacrifice_.”

He readied his axe. “We’re going in- on my count.” Ketek held Ciri’s eyes, and he nodded, confirmation he wasn’t about to abandon her. Before he could begin, the others returned.

Evelyn spoke in a hushed voice. “We’re trapped. Five Grey Wardens are heading this way, we’ll be discovered.”

Ciri’s face contorted in anger. “The hell we will.” She tried to picture the open field outside the Temple and opened a portal. The gasp from those around her swallowed up by the steady roar of the portal. “Go.” 

l-l-l

Ketek Adaar’s last memory before stepping through the vortex was of trying to reason with Ciri and failing; she’d refused his help before charging him to look after the others and find the Divine’s emissaries.

_“I’ll stay with you,” he said, pointing to the chamber door. “That’s a ritual going on inside, something that shouldn’t be, and you can’t face it alone.” She looked at him with a crooked smile and shrugged._

_“You need to keep those three from killing one another, besides I have no idea where the portal will take you. I’m hoping to get close enough to reach Haven.” Nodding toward the portal, Ciri promised to be careful. “Take care of Kelpie for me.”_

Even though Ketek had prepared himself for the worst, the ease at which he entered through the seeming violent storm of winds and light proved to be nothing more than a breath of air and a few steps. Emerging from the gateway, Ketek realized he’d closed his eyes. A sudden jolt from multiple hands shaking him startled him more than pass through the portal, standing at the overlarge wooden gates of a village; he pulled free of the three. “This is. . .this is _Haven_. We passed it on the way to the Temple. How did Ciri do that?” 

Malika bent over laughing. “That was some trick, but where is she?”

Ketek’s wonder shifted into concern; his forehead creased, and gaze narrowed. “Then she didn’t come through?”

Only one met his eyes. Evelyn. “No. the doorway closed after you emerged. We must return, I fear, for what we heard; it had to be-”

“What have you done?” Ellana shrieked, her wide eyes taking in the snow-covered forests. “Where is Ciri? I _demand_ to be returned to the Temple!”

Crossing her arms, Malika scoffed. “Listen, princess, drop the act. You were spying on us. You’re not a city elf; they have that strange stare of being cooped up for too long. Who are you?”

Stumbling back on unsteady footsteps, Ellana gasped as Evelyn held her up. “I’m. . . Ellana. Lavellan is my clan, and I demand to be released.”

Frustration carried Malika closer to the tall elf. She snapped her fingers a few times. “Hey! Leave it already, you’re not a captive.” She gestured to the open woods. “Go, no one is holding you hostage. The temple is a fair walk from here if you don’t freeze first.” Seeing the elf standing still, Malika leaned closer, her words slow and deliberate. “That means you are free to go.”

“Knock it off, Malika.” Ketek inhaled in an attempt to get his bearings. “The Seeker should be inside. Evelyn, you’re with me, this won’t be pleasant.” Returning his attention to the others, he pointed in the direction of the temple, instructing Ellana to stick to the path and not to wander.

When he found the Seeker inside the gates, Ketek’s assessment wasn’t far off. The Seeker wasn’t pleased at all. “Why are you here? What of the Most Holy?”

The world ended in a blinding flash. The dirt and rocks beneath their feet trembled. Supply crates outside the Chantry toppled, and any who stood struggled to balance for a moment.

A scout burst into their conversation. “Lady Cassandra! The lookout reports the explosion came from the pilgrim’s path toward the Temple and. . .and,” the scout stopped pointing into the sky.

“Maker preserve us, what is that?” Evelyn’s surprise was shared by all; their attention pulled heavenward.

Something had ripped open the heavens, leaving a raging storm of clouds. The air and storm tinted a sickly glowing green, and amid the swirling mass, giant boulders floated impossibly in midair, but it was the violent streaks of unnatural lightning that exploded from the skyward breach that stole all hope from those witnessing the end of all things.

In silence all stood, none knowing what would come next. Several scouts ran from the gates, calling for the Seeker. The first stopped nearest Ketek, out of breath and bent at the waist. “Seeker. . .the road to the Temple. . .demons. . .the people.”

“And the Temple?” The question waited for an answer that those gathered already knew. The scout shook his head in silence. Cassandra straightened, instructing Ketek to follow her. 

Ketek needed to find Ciri. She would have escaped, he had no doubt to her strengths, but he’d been hired by the Seeker and had no choice but to follow. A quick turn of his head sought Evelyn’s attention. “Find the others; we’ll search when I return.”

Without arguing, Evelyn posed a single question. “What of the elf?”

“Tell her the truth. They’re all gone.”

l-l-l

The flash blinded her, sending Ciri flying into stone; the impact robbed her lungs of air before she landed on uneven ground. Even with her eyes closed, Ciri understood she’d survived the blast, although she wasn’t sure how. Memories clouded and fragmented in such a way she couldn’t recall what had happened inside the ritual room. Limbs ached, and a throbbing pain in her head subsided with each passing moment. An incessant chittering sound some distance behind her grated on her frayed nerves. “You can stop that now, thank you!” Many were no doubt injured, carrying on would do little good. “Take it slow,” the memory of her lessons resurfaced, pushing panic aside, Ciri focused. “Let your body tell you where you are.” She sucked in her breath and wobbled as she stood. Instinct lifted her hand to her forehead, the source of the sting. Slickness too thick for mere sweat confirmed a head wound. “Wonderful. I’m dizzy and my head hurts. This can’t be good.”

The chittering picked up in volume, growing closer to her position. Ciri steadied her balance, eyes scanning her surroundings. “Where is this place?” No stranger to the places between worlds, even in unfamiliar surroundings, a portal would return her to Thedas. She could see the layers of time and space; a thin film that covered the visible world, a simple tear would open the way and then seal it behind her.

Reaching out, Ciri’s focus intensified, and she willed the portal to form, but nothing happened. “Not good, definitely not good.” She shuffled backwards, turning her head to get a better view.

She peered over a precipice, hoping the cliffside revealed more than just the stark rocks and sickly green clouded skies. Far behind her a series of black structures sat far removed from her position, but a swirling storm to her right raised even more concern. With little shelter nearby, the storm would present an even greater problem when it moved closer.

A slow rise of concern would lead to panic if she could not leave this plane. “There must be a way out.”

Chittering turned into clicking sounds coupled with soft impacts on earth. The more she listened, the rustling sounds intensified and realization of an approaching army urged her to move. A voice called out to her, warm, female and soothing.

_“Hurry, child. There is little time.”_

“Never been rude to someone trying to help me before, and I’m not about to start now.” Hurried steps carried her toward a rock face and high above a woman waved her on. “This way, the demons!” A golden aura surrounded the woman, blinding Ciri’s vision. Shielding her eyes with one hand, Ciri tried to climb. _What if I can’t blink? Those things are getting closer. I must climb_ , she thought. Turning around, Ciri discovered the source of the noises she’d heard—an army of spiders each the size of a wild dog. Had she not lost her sword, Ciri might have faced them. 

Behind her, the spiders loomed closer. An arm’s length above her a woman reached out; the glow surrounded them, intensifying until Ciri felt something pull her free and push her through a tear, the force expelling her onto a dirt road. In the same instant, a searing pain tore through her left palm and up her arm. The pain spread across her chest and Ciri cried out once and then moved no more.

l-l-l

Hours passed, and for the small group from the Temple, it seemed like days. The emissaries of the Divine stood on one side of the table. The sneer on Cassandra’s face proof she did not believe a word of the story they’d been told. “Once more, if you please,” Cassandra said through a clenched jaw. “Do not think to lie, I am done with stories. The truth-I will have it.”

Malika was the first to break. “That’s it. I’m done.” She stood and walked around the table, hands on her hips she stared undaunted up into the Seeker’s face. “We’ve been telling you the truth, but you’re either mad or just plain dense.”

“Malika!” Evelyn’s warning meant to silence, but it only spurred Malika’s indignation further.

She scoffed. “Last time, so listen up. Her name is Ciri. She saved us from some weird thing that the Wardens were doing at the Temple and now you’ve got her chained up when she needs our help.”

“I don’t believe you. The Wardens were not part of the Conclave.” Cassandra crossed her arms and waited for a response.

Rising from his chair, Ketek confirmed it. “I witnessed them. The dwarf,” he corrected himself, “Malika speaks the truth. Wardens or a group dressed in Warden armor had taken a large room at the rear of the Temple, set guards. Ciri and another followed them, confirming a strange type of magic presence inside. When we approached to investigate, we . . .we were cornered.” Ketek rolled his shoulders and straightened. “You can believe me or not, but I have no reason to lie. Ciri helped us all escape. We’re alive because of her.”

Cassandra’s disbelief carried in her tone. “Who is this. . .this _Ciri_?“


	5. It's All A Bit Hazy, Really

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri wakes to find herself confined in a cell. Still unsure of her crime, she tries to cooperate with the Divine's emissaries.

_Did I dream it all?_ The cold metal around her wrists felt real enough. A quick tug of her hands confirmed her predicament. “All right,” Ciri said, “you’ve been in worse situations, what to do first?” Her captors weren’t taking any chances. “Nothing to be done about the shackles.” A cursory glance around her revealed a prison of sorts, a few torches on the walls barely provided enough light, but since she’d been moved against the wall and chained, the two guards that had stood watch over her were gone. “Of course they’re gone; you’re chained to the damned wall.” Her left arm stung and Ciri had to wonder what she’d done to it.

 _I remember mist_ ; she recalled the odd green haze and an unnatural sky amid floating rocks and structures. It was one of the in between places, she’d seen many of them by accident, but her memory failed to recall anything else of note. The moments after sending Ketek and the others through the portal had clouded and all she was left with was an occasional throb in her left arm.

This was O’Dimm’s fault. “The lesson here is never accepting strange offers of reprieve from someone you meet at a crossroads. I should have trusted my instincts, of course this whole thing was a setup.” Despite the futility of the action, she struggled to pull free before wondering if she could blink free of the chains. “I’ve never tried it, what’s the worst that could happen?”

The action was simple enough for her, a shift forward and nothing more. She exhaled, and then suddenly changed her mind. “You’re only going to prove your complicity in whatever offense these people think you did. Staying put is a far better option and you can hope level heads prevail.”

A peculiar scratching at the door drew Ciri’s attention away from her predicament. Muffled voices joined in and soon after a loud metallic clunk suggested someone had unlocked the door.

“Told you I could do it,” one voice whispered, something in its brashness familiar to Ciri.

The door opened slowly, and Ciri shut her eyes from the bright daylight as it blinded her. A moment later, the room fell dark once more, and the jingle and clank of iron keys filled her with hope. “Thank you, whoever you are,” she said softly. _I was starting to wonder if they’d forgotten me._

“Not gonna happen. Did they hurt you?” At first her mind substituted Geralt’s voice, its deep timbre and caring tone so reminiscent of his, but the trick dissipated as her vision adjusted, revealing Ketek’s questioning gaze. “Hey, come on, talk to me.”

Ciri shook her head before answering. “No, in hindsight I probably should have left the ropes alone; cutting my hands free was a poor decision on my part.” He released her other hand and dug into his pocket.

“Here, it’s a potion.”

Even in the dim light, she noted the concern on his face. Where she expected confidence, he dropped his eyes from hers more than once. _Does he blame himself? He couldn’t have known_. She could at least try to reassure him. “It wasn’t your fault, Ketek. Thank you for helping me.”

“Yeah, well. Your horse is waiting on the other side of the village gate. You’ve got to hurry. When you leave here, head east until you reach the Imperial Highway and then turn north. You’re headed for the city of Jader, and I’ll find you in a day or two.”

Ciri’s attention moved beyond Ketek to the door. “You picked the lock. This is a break out.” Her eyes widened. “No, I will not give these people any more to hold against me. I did nothing wrong. Put me back in the restraints.”

Ketek refused. “Don’t do this. You don’t understand. The Divine is dead and you’re the one they blame. You have to run.”

She stepped back, the walls of the large room suddenly shrinking. “What?!” Ciri’s arm sliced through the air with more denials. “I killed no one,” her head pounded and Ciri stumbled forward. “I sent you and the others through the portal and then. . . and then. . .I can’t remember!” She tapped her temple with the heel of her hand as if hoping to coax the memory out. Ketek’s reassurances and promise to keep her safe did little to calm her. “I’m not running, thank you just the same, but I will not feed this. . .this. . .madness.”

Ciri saw the movement too late from the darkened corner of the room, realizing she hadn’t been alone at all. The figure stood at average height and by the sway of her hips, might be a woman, and when she spoke, Ciri realized her guess had been correct. “The girl is right, it would be better to remain here,” stepping into the torch light, Ciri noted the image of an open eye on the woman’s tunic, her hair covered by a fabric hood. “Ketek Adaar, how unlike you to champion a criminal.”

“Shit.” Ketek’s heavy sigh preceded a glance at Ciri before he turned to face the woman. “Sister Leliana, I swear on my life Ciri did nothing wrong. You can take me in her place and let her go.”

“We will address your role in all this later.” She gestured toward the door. “Leave us.”

Ketek remained still.

Annoyance crossed Leliana’s face for an instant before a light smile took over. “We need your friend; I assure you the girl will be safe with me. Now go.”

For a moment Ciri thought Ketek might refuse, but with a long lingering look he took his time exiting the holding cell area. Ciri knew better than to make a move, she thought it strange how someone of Ketek’s bravado and strength would give in so quickly; the occurrence could only mean one thing; this Sister Leliana held a position of importance and more importantly was not to be crossed. When the woman tapped her foot in annoyance, Ciri had to wonder if she had angered her.

“I know you’re there–Malika, isn’t it? Leave us.”

From somewhere in the dark, a muttered curse carried louder than expected. “Shit.” Malika scurried after Ketek and slammed the door. “Shit!” She yelled from the outside.

Ciri laughed in spite of her predicament; Malika’s disregard for propriety was something Ciri envied. When Sister Leliana shifted her attention, Ciri pressed her lips together.

“We find ourselves with many unanswered questions. Perhaps you might have the answers?”

Her dialect reminded Ciri of Nilfgaard, there were some areas with an almost similar lilt to the words and speech and if it were possible to find any who might know of her or her association, perhaps then Ciri might be more inclined to share everything she knew. “Forgive me, but are you from here, this place,” she paused the name of the land on the tip of her tongue, Ciri shook her head as if the action might clear the cloud in her memory. “An elf-Solas- he told me the name of the land, but I can’t seem to remember it now.”

“You spoke with Solas? When? Where?” Quick steps carried Leliana deeper into the room. “Do you mean to say you don’t remember where you are? If you are not of Thedas, then from where have you traveled?”

Ciri snapped her fingers at the recognition. “Yes, that’s it, _Thedas_.” She hadn’t answered the questions, still unsure who to trust. 

For a moment Leliana regarded Ciri with an almost incredulous look. “Who are you?”

“A traveler who is quite confused and clearly in over her head.” Ciri wrapped her arms around herself, but realizing the weakness it conveyed, she quickly dropped her arms to her side. “You’re not going to believe me.”

Leliana ventured closer and softened her voice. “I find it most curious that a simple traveler has instilled such fierce loyalties.” She crossed her arms. “You have my full attention; I assure you.”

The desire to tell the truth nearly moved Ciri to speak, but she shook her head. “I already must sound quite mad. It might be best to leave me here,” she offered. “At least until my memory clears.”

“Your memory? Do you have no recollection of the conclave?”

“Bits and pieces, I’m afraid. The last thing I recall with any clarity was sending Ketek and the others through a portal.” Ciri shrugged. “If I’m to be honest, I did so purely out of desperation. We couldn’t know what would happen and I wanted to see them all to safety,” she scratched her head, “it’s anything after that seems to be more than a little unsure.”

Her hands clasped behind her back, Leliana rocked on her heels. “And what exactly is a portal?”

Without thinking, Ciri pulled open a portal to her left. Leliana’s eyes widened and she stumbled back a few steps. “What in the Maker’s name?” The frown on Leliana’s face replaced her shock. “Explain this.” 

The grimace on Ciri’s face narrowed her eyes. “Forgive me,” she said, closing the portal and holding her hands in surrender. “I mean no harm.”

“Yes, you’ve made that clear, but my question remains unanswered. “If you wish to be set free, I would suggest the truth; begin with who sent you and end with what I just saw.”

l-l-l

“That was quite the tale, but it still doesn’t explain what happened at the temple. You’ve managed to recount what brought you to Thedas in detail and yet you don’t remember anything after sending your companions to Haven.”

“I’m afraid not.” Ciri hoped her sincerity would sway her captor. _I still need to find that orb if I’m to return home._ “Sister Leliana, I can’t imagine hearing all this has changed your mind about me, but if there is any possible way to prove I am no danger—”

Leliana turned on her heel, quick steps bringer her close. “There is a way. You possess magic I have never seen and inspire those around you. Maybe the Maker sent you to Thedas. If that is true, then to reject His intervention would only hurt us.” She tapped a gloved finger against her lips. “We will need a title, something to set those who would challenge on edge. What was it you said your people called you? A lion? Lions haven’t been seen in years, perhaps in the north or the far west.”

Ciri groaned inwardly. She hated it. “Lion Cub of Cintra, it refers to where I am from and a birthright I do not seek. It means nothing here, no one would understand.”

Crossing her arms, Leliana nodded. “Precisely why we will use it. Lions have all but passed into legend. Why would you be named such? It carries with it just enough mystery to make others uncomfortable. The nobles will whisper it through courts and parties, spreading your name. They will create the illusion for us.”

“No,” Ciri said, shaking her head. “This is not up for discussion. I will help you, but please.” The image of Haven’s serene woods and countryside blurred in her mind amid the hooves of the galloping horses and snarling dogs, the Hunt searching—for her. Ciri shook her head and blinked away her darkening thoughts. “It would be better if my presence and name were kept from conversation.”

Ciri cried out as an invisible blade pierced her hand. Sucking in her breath, she pulled it to her chest. Eyes closed, she willed her choppy breathing and racing heart to slow until she managed to exhale slowly. “This one hurt,” she said aloud, unsure what the pain and strange glow meant. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.

A furrowed brow and barely audible hum preceded Leliana’s quick steps to Ciri’s side. “We have healers. Perhaps I have been too direct?”

Considering the question took no time at all. “No, you seek to understand and hope to gauge if I can be useful or if I may pose a problem.”

Leliana didn’t answer, but her sly smile confirmed enough for Ciri. The door opened without a knock, revealing Lady Cassandra. “We must go.” She glared at Ciri. “Now.”

l-l-l

Throughout the one-sided conversation, Ciri simply followed; biting her tongue seemed best. _This Cassandra speaks with the highest authoritative tone, but I’ve no idea under who’s authority she operates._ The words thrown at Ciri’s feet made little sense to her, but the importance behind Cassandra’s lecture prompted more questions. “And the divine is a person?”

Nostrils flared and lips pressed together. “Your act is not appropriate nor appreciated,” Cassandra said. “You know full well who the Divine is; what I wish to learn is who set you against the Most Holy.” The lack of a questioning inflection told Ciri to remain silent.

Scorn and disbelief walked beside her as Cassandra continued her lecture. Ciri’s eyes shifted to her left and right as they passed Haven’s citizens. Everything changed with a glance. To her left, a man stood in leather clothes, his head covered by a hat crafted of the same brown hide. Nothing in his features revealed much about him, but at the moment their eyes met, his narrowed. His lips parted in a near snarl and had Ciri not been chasing Cassandra’s steps, she might have paused to inquire what she had done.

The pathway grew more crowded, and with each person she passed, Ciri began to understand the gravity of what had happened. Some feared her, retreating without words. Others heaped their anger and disgust at her approach, but Ciri refused to challenge the scornful looks. She quickened her pace. “A moment please?”

Grateful Cassandra halted her forced march through the town, Ciri hoped for more information. “What do want?”

She answered without thinking. “A little politeness would be appreciated, but then since you’re convinced of my involvement in this tragedy, I’ll settle for a few answers.” The silent admonishment sounded in her head, and Ciri quickly delivered an apology. “I apologize, that was incredibly rude.” 

Cassandra scoffed in response. “Listen carefully,” she said, quieting her voice. “I do not believe the stories you and the others insist is the truth.” Ciri stepped back, ready to defend her position, but Cassandra ignored the reaction. “Solas believes you can be useful; if you wish to remain free, you will do as you’re told.”

 _Do as I’m told?_ Ciri swallowed her retort, opting instead to affirm her promise. “I’ve already agreed to help.”

“We shall see,” Cassandra said, continuing on her path.

Following dutifully, a sudden itch grew in intensity until it spread across Ciri’s hand. A flash of green light sent a shudder through her. “What have you done to me?”

“We have done nothing. You were found with that. . .that mark on your hand. Solas insists you can help in our fight.”

 _Solas seems to know far more than anyone else. Hopefully I will survive long enough to speak with him again._ Ciri wouldn’t rescind her promise to help, but she’d need her sword. “I can’t help you without my sword.”

Cassandra stopped and faced her, rising nearly a head taller. “No, you will observe.” The lady spun on her heel and resumed her quickened pace.

 _This is madness_ , she thought _, I’m not about to set one foot more without proper gear_. From the time she could hold a wooden sword until the day she departed, everyone around her underscored the necessity of proper equipment. _They live more dangerously here or_ , Ciri’s thoughts hit on a more likely possibility, _this Cassandra believes me expendable_. _Well, I wholeheartedly disagree, and will play no part of this._

The lady had widened the distance between them so much, Ciri nearly had to shout to gain Cassandra’s attention. “I have had quite enough, Cassandra.” Ciri no longer cared for propriety, sending her out to battle with nothing was irresponsible. She stopped on the dirt path, crossed her arms and waited.

“How do you dare?”

Refusing to back down, Ciri met Cassandra’s ire with full stubbornness. “You refused to believe a single word offered in my defense, you held me like a criminal, and now you wish to send me into a battle against who knows what with nothing?” Emboldened by Cassandra’s widening eyes, Ciri continued. “If you’re looking for a martyr to whatever your cause may be, look elsewhere!” It wasn’t right, but Ciri could not, would not submit to entering into the unknown without a weapon. “I’m afraid if you refuse me, I’ll not go any further. Run me through with your sword and see where that gets you.”


	6. Nothing Ventured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri puts her plan into motion. Evelyn Trevelyan, in the guise of the Herald, goes to meet with the Templars at Therinfal Redoubt. With Dorian's guidance, Ciri plans to meet with the mages in Redcliffe. If all goes well, having the support of both the Templars and the mages might be the first step to ending all hostilities in the region and secure proper help to seal the breach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note:
> 
> I am changing Witcher canon to suit the story here. Forgiveness requested in advance.

_Ten years prior, Northern Realms..._

_Beaten by a rock_ , Ciri thought, picking out the dirt and gravel from her knee. _How_ _does Geralt spin like that without falling all the time?_ She winced; the scrape on her skin burned with each touch, bringing tears to her eyes.

Voices grew from somewhere near the courtyard. “Hurry,” she muttered, “before they see what you’ve done.” Ciri didn’t need another lecture. She wanted to learn to fight, not just read about it. The problem was, not one of the adults around would show her a single step until her lessons were complete. “Once they see what you’ve done, you’ll end up sitting in a chair with books from sunup to sundown.”

l-l-l  
  
 _Haven_

The memory faded for Ciri, and the cold snap of winter sharpened the present for her once more. “I need to think.” Conversing alone wasn’t something strange for Ciri. It helped organize her thoughts to hear them aloud. “None of this makes any sense,” she said, staring at her hand. Whatever magic she had absorbed hadn’t lessened. _If I could talk with Yennefer, even Triss might have some suggestion on how to sever this connection._ As she stared, small currents zipped beneath her skin; it remained an annoying little reminder of her predicament.

 _I have to stop doing that. None of them are here._ She sat atop a crate outside the Chantry, the space hidden by the massive structure and the wooded area to its right.

Months had passed since she arrived. So many had joined the fight, some she knew by name, but more often than not, Ciri’s mind wandered to those she left behind.

The brush and leaves rustled to her left, and she held her breath to listen. The footfalls were heavy, snow crunched underfoot as someone approached. A heavy sigh trailed into a grumble. “Ciri?” Ketek’s rich baritone found her before he did; but his troubled expression and slight frown suggested he brought yet another message from the war council. “How are you holding up?” He neared and leaned on the adjacent side of the crate.

“Master Dennett is settled, at least. What of the others?” With so many willing to help, tasks were divided and, in a sense, Ciri could be in two places at once—except when it came to the Rifts. There was little she could do other than travel to each of them with a small group. The horses would help, as it was she was tiring Kelpie with every long ride into the Hinterlands. Master Dennett had promised Kelpie would receive his best care.

He sighed again. “That’s not what I asked.”

“I know,” she replied softly. “I. . .why won’t these templars and mages listen? Are they so prepared to die?”

Ketek shrugged. “I wish I knew.” He paused, shifting to face her. “You’ve no choice; it’s a terrible one, yes, but the fighting has to stop.” Ketek cleared his throat. “Cullen wants you to consider siding with the Templars, and Sister Nightingale is confident the mages are a better choice.”

She scoffed. “Better choice? I’m afraid there isn’t a better choice, picking sides is still selecting one over the other.” She kicked at the snow in front of her. “What if I choose the wrong side? If there was a way to talk with both sides, maybe we could find common ground between them.”

Crossing his arms, Ketek nodded in silence for a moment. “Yeah, but that was already tried, and you saw how well that turned out.” Only their small group had survived the attempt to hold peace talks.

Ciri jumped from the high crate and faced him. “I know but hear me out. Two teams. One to the Templars, one to the mages.”

“You’re joking.” His laugh was half-hearted, even disbelieving, but Ciri stared intently at Ketek. She needed him to buy into her idea and then help sell it to the others.

“No, I’m quite serious. We keep the requests secret. Have Leliana send a scout to each delegation. Neither have a clue who this Herald is, and it’ll work.”

He pressed his lips together. “What about the rifts?”

She took a few steps away from him, wagging her finger. “We can’t let that be an obstacle. We’ll have to chance it.”

“Who will play you?” Ketek’s furrowed brow and tentativeness questioned her.

“Ser Evelyn. She’s a Templar, right? She’s authoritative. Remind her to wear gloves, and then send her with a group to the Templars and I’ll,” she paused and took several more steps before wheeling to face him. “Dorian. I’ll take Dorian with me back to Redcliffe.” She smiled, feeling a bit pleased with her decision. She met his concern with a bright smile and wide eyes. “What do you think? Will they go for it?” She meant the war council, but by extension, she included all those who would need to be a part of this endeavor.

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

l-l-l

The idea had seemed perfectly logical when suggested; recruit both the mages and the Templars at the same time, but Ciri hadn’t expected Thedas to throw everything at her at once. This world seemed to thrive on the worst possible scenarios taking place simultaneously.

Before they had entered Redcliffe’s castle, Dorian had slipped in with a small contingent of scouts and soldiers aiming to disarm the Ventori within the castle walls, leaving Ciri, Varric and Cassandra to provide a distraction.

It had started off well enough, and then something happened that none of them could have anticipated. Ciri and Dorian were pulled through a portal of sorts, leaving them in a peculiar predicament.

Standing in ankle deep water, Ciri sheathed her sword; two Venatori guards lay dead at her feet. With a quick scan of the cell they’d appeared in, she noted Dorian nearby, but said nothing until he approached. “Are you all right?”

“Am I all right? Do you always take on every foe as though you are the only fighter in the room? Your fade stepping is rather impressive and glows quite a bit. Where did you learn such a skill?”

She managed a smile and shrug. “It’s something I can do. I never gave it much thought. You called it what? Fade something?”

“A fade step. It’s used offensively, but can be rather advantageous in dangerous situations as well.” She caught the slight twitch of his upper lip. “While your skill is impressive, might we work better side by side?”

Her shoulders slumped. “You’re right. I apologize. I’m so used to being on my own and being expected to govern myself, I forget my manners.”

He laughed. “Your manners are not in question. Ciri, if I may call you Ciri, we’ll find a way back, but only if we work together.”

l-l-l

“How was I supposed to know he wasn’t in his right mind?”

“Alexius?” Dorian followed Ciri through the prison cells. “You could have asked.”

“And I apologize—again. I know I made a mess of things.” Ciri’s self-imposed isolation in Haven had been a mistake. “Alexius said he wanted to talk,” she grumbled, “not fling me through time.” Sloshing through the water filled dungeons, Ciri continued. “Had I wished to get lost in time, I could have managed that quite well on my own thank you, but to have that half-crazed sorcerer send me who knows where?”

“Magister or mage if you prefer,” Dorian offered, “although I believe half-crazed is a bit too generous. Alexius is truly insane.”

“Right, magister.” She’d have to remember the vernacular to sound less foreign. “I’ll get it, eventually.”

“I know you will. You’ve done quite well considering.” Dorian allowed Ciri to pass. “Well, now you’ve seen the dungeons in Redcliffe Castle, what do you think?”

"Oh, it's lovely here—nothing that time and a little fire won't fix,” Ciri said, eyes wide.

Despite the situation, Dorian laughed as he followed her. “I take it where you’re from this sort of thing is normal then?”

“You mean the giant red crystals growing everywhere? This is a first for me,” Ciri said, tugging on doors in the corridor and finding them locked. “Normal for me I suppose are bogs mired in noxious gasses, forbidden forests, and forsaken temples guarded by magical constructs. Occasionally you find a monster nest, but they’re nothing if you’re well prepared.” Turning to face him, Ciri grinned at Dorian. “I think you’d like it.” 

A single raised brow answered her. “We have very different definitions of normal.”

l-l-l

Flooded corridors gave way to crumbling rooms and packed prison cells. One by one, companions were liberated from their incarceration, each one providing a little more information. By the time the others were located, Ciri understood the full truth of their predicament. Not only had they moved forward in time, but this timeline represented a horrible loss, including her death.

Even with her companions freed, Ciri was at a loss to reconcile their story against what she knew. “I’m not dead, I’m right here.” Her frustration with the repeated insistence chiseled at Ciri’s composure. “I should think you could see that, or at least have some faith in me.”

It was Varric who answered. “Before all this? I don’t think you said more than a handful of words to any of us. Maybe if you’d taken the time, we’d know you better.” He shook his head, raising his hands. “Look, we can’t go back, but you’re here. We can make some trouble, and for that? I’m all in.”

 _He’s right_ , she thought, considering once more how her isolation likely didn’t sit well with the active members of the Inquisition. _You can’t solve this alone_. Ciri halted her steps and faced him. “I apologize, and you’re right, except for one thing.”

“Is that right?” Varric shrugged. “What did I miss?”

“We can go back, that is, I should be able to move us back, but something’s wrong,” she said. “Or rather, doesn’t feel right.”

“Move us back?” Dorian’s brow furrowed and his eyes unfocused. “ _Had I wished to get lost in time, I could have managed that quite well on my own._ That’s what you said.” He stared at her. “I’d thought I had misheard.” He shifted closer. “You can use time magic? Can you do so now?”

“I should have tried it when we first arrived, but we were interrupted in the dungeons.” Ciri tried to think of Haven and its snow-covered pathways and crisp icy air. She lifted her gloved hand and tried to open a gateway. Nothing happened. “Apparently not.” She pointed toward the stairs leading upward and explained. “I can traverse places with portals. If I’ve been somewhere, I can open a doorway of sorts and simply move to that place.” She paused. “There is a possibility I might end up where I didn’t intend, but I follow a rule set by someone very important to me.” She almost smiled thinking of Yennefer. “Nothing is ever in error, it’s a process of learning. Keep moving.”

“A good rule to follow,” he said. “I am curious as to what changed; why the difficulty now?”

“I wish I knew. The issue is, I get the feeling the easiest paths are closed.” Dorian’s interest would normally have led Ciri into a discussion of possibilities, but she’d hit the same wall every time she’d tried to do anything other than travel around Thedas. Something held her back. “I’m being led for some reason.”

“Just figuring that out now, are we?” With a grand sweeping gesture, Dorian continued. “What gave it away? Was is being thrown into a time vortex or the giant red crystals growing everywhere?”

There was a collective grumble from the others, but Ciri took their mumblings as agreement. “Ah, sarcasm. How incredibly helpful.”

Dorian laughed. “Well played,” he said. “I’m sure we could continue, but we should find a way back to our time. The amulet Alexius used to send us here is no doubt our way back.”

“Right.”

l-l-l

“Well, that was rather bracing,” Ciri said, dusting off her arms. She peered at Dorian through her ministrations to find him staring at her with a single raised brow before directing several soldiers to take custody of Alexius.

Varric pushed through a few onlookers. “All right, what just happened?”

Ciri quieted her voice. “Something we can discuss later if you’ve an interest.”

“Oh, trust me. I can’t wait to hear this one,” Varric said, craning his neck to the right. “But unless I’m mistaken, our little chat will have to wait. Isn’t that right, Your Majesty?”

Ferelden’s king was younger than Ciri had expected. His leathers were well made, and she guessed the adornment on his collar might suggest his social status. Nothing she saw immediately indicated he might be royalty. The only surety was his expression; a very pointed mix of annoyance and anger directed toward where they stood.

“That’s the king of Ferelden?”

Varric nodded. “What? The fur collar and grumpy disposition didn’t give it away? A word of advice—don’t buy the act. He’s not confused or befuddled. Alistair knows exactly what he’s doing.”

Ciri listened as the king chastised Fiona. She couldn’t sit still. “Your Majesty, please reconsider.”

“The last time I checked, this was my kingdom, and that means I decide what to do with those who threaten Ferelden and Fereldans.”

Knowing she had one chance, Ciri kept her voice as even as she could. “Your Majesty, I would never presume to tell you what you should or should not do, but please understand, the mages were bewitched by Alexius. We have him in custody. I can prevent this from happening again.” It wasn’t an entirely true claim. _At least, I hope I can if Evelyn succeeded._

“And how would you do that exactly?”

She’d been over her plan with Ketek and Evelyn numerous times, repeating it with conviction came easily. “As we speak, associates of mine are negotiating with the Templar Order at Therinfall. Once the negotiations are complete, then we can cease the hostilities and give your people time to recover.”

Behind her, Ciri heard Varric’s disapproval. “Great. More Templars. Because that worked in Kirkwall, right?” He joined Ciri, standing nearer to her. “Oh right, I must have forgotten. It didn’t.”

Cassandra pulled on Ciri’s shoulder. “Do not listen to him. Aligning with the Templars is prudent. We will approach the Seekers as well.” 

With Cassandra’s backing, Ciri continued. “We want what’s best for all, not just one group over another.” Skepticism carried in a single raised brow from the king.

“Is that right? So, you mean to tell me you would succeed where others failed? How?" Alistair crossed his arms and settled on his feet. He’d need convincing, and Ciri had little to give.

“Well. To be honest, I don't quite know the exact details, I've only just popped through a window in time and I've not had more than a minute or two to put this plan together, but if I succeed? That must be worth some leniency.”

“But if you fail, my people are at greater risk.”

Ciri copied his stubborn gesture. She could stand firm if needed. "Everyone is at risk. All I can do is try. Give me a chance to make it work. But," she sighed, knowing she had to give him some reassurance. "For starters, I will speak with my companions and advisors. Perhaps there are restoration efforts our people can assist with or even fund if we are able."

The amused expression on Alistair’s face gave no indication if he might accept Ciri’s offer. "And...."

“And?” _A bit demanding considering what we accomplished here._ Ciri rolled her shoulders. "Your majesty?"

"Why is it everyone always defaults to _your majesty_ when they don't know what to say next?"

Tired and becoming less concerned with proper behavior, she shrugged. "Maybe because I don't know what else to offer, you’re not being incredibly helpful yourself—your majesty.”

Alistair didn’t reply. Instead, he tilted his head slightly from side to side several times before nodding once. “Walk with me, Herald.” He gestured toward a side door.

“I prefer Ciri, Highness.”

“Ciri. I prefer Alistair, but I’m told it's less kingly to use it. What do you think?”

She wondered if he was having her on. She’d met kings and queens before, and none were quite like King Alistair. _Perhaps grandmother, but then that was a different circumstance, so it’s hardly comparable._  
Ciri realized his question required an answer, no matter how vague. “Never having been a king, I couldn’t rightly say.”

“A diplomatic answer. Tell me, Ciri. How is it one so young has risen to such heights? Herald of Andraste. Quite the lofty title.”

She didn’t want yet another title, another weight to be dragged about. She recited one of her lessons. “Titles carry expectations, it’s up to the bearer to either fulfill them or refute them. Or so I was taught.”

He chuckled in response. “We must have had the same teachers.”

“Mine are far, far away,” she said wistfully.

Alistair gave a slight hum, but what it meant to convey, Ciri wasn’t sure. He led her into a large room with a table and chairs, pulling out a chair for her and waiting. “Sit, please. I would continue our discussion.”

“If it pleases, Highness.” Ciri remembered hearing those words as a child and hoped they fit.

“You remind me of someone I knew. He liked to challenge me often,” Alistair said as he sat across from her. “He had this curious habit of hiding insults beneath pleasantries and within conversations. The real problem was, I’d end up agreeing with nearly every one of his suggestions without argument.”

Her brow furrowed. “He wasn’t a friend?”

Leaning back in his chair, Alistair shook his head. “On the contrary, he was a dear friend. I miss him and his needling.”

Unsure where Alistair was leading the conversation, Ciri remained vague. “What happened to him?”

His eyes widened, and Alistair’s mouth opened slightly, as if she’d said something shocking, but he recovered quickly, wagging his finger. “Come now, you must have heard of the Blight? Was a big deal a number of years ago, end of the world, darkspawn . . .huge. . .dragon looking thing.”

“Sorry, no,” she said, “but please go on, it sounds fascinating.”

Alistair’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “Another time, perhaps. I’ve been told you claim to be from another realm, not from Thedas. Is this true?”

She saw no harm in the truth. “It is and I am. I’ve little reason to lie about it, Highness.”

“I really despise those platitudes. Half the time I can’t be sure it’s not meant as an insult.”

“I say it out of respect, King Alistair. If I’ve insulted you, then I deeply apologize,” Ciri said.

He should his head and sighed. “Oh, please don’t say that. You’ve been terribly polite, which I admit, I was not expecting. I believe I indicated I preferred to be called Alistair. Never mind what’s kingly or not.” He shifted in his chair. “This is a conversation between you and me.”

“Is it? Since arriving here I’ve been in more than a few _conversations_ that smelled faintly of interrogations.”

He raised a brow. “Is that right? Well,” Alistair said, leaning forward, “you did appear out of thin air, as they say. Quite an interesting entrance. Since then, you’ve amassed a bit of a reputation and a host of rumors.”

Ciri bit back a smile. “Oh?” She needed to be smart, and more importantly quiet. _Let him speak._

There was something in his grin that suggested more than amusement. _Let him reveal his cards first._

“A little bird told me you carry quite a number of impressive monikers. Lion Cub of Cintra was the one that caught my attention. Rather extraordinary, actually.”

 _Leliana_ , she thought. _I wish she hadn’t spread that around_. “Cintra is my home, or was. It’s a kingdom in the Northern Realms, where I live.”

He nodded again. “I would like to hear of your realm.”

Ciri didn’t blink. The opportunity to give the mages time and possibly still remain within Ferelden lands had all but fallen in her lap. “Alistair, I would like to share everything you wish to know, but I must see to the evacuation of the mages from your lands.” She swallowed hard. _Nothing ventured, and all that_ , she thought.

“Oh, right. Then what if I agreed to your terms? You see to the end of hostilities and aid in the restoration efforts _and_ answer the call for aid if any seek to infiltrate Ferelden again. I will accept the compromise and allow those with family ties to remain providing they assist in said efforts.” He lifted his hand with his index finger raised to show Alistair hadn’t finished. “Providing you can enlist the aid of Templars from Therinfal or those in the Order already allied with your mission.”

“I’ll deliver your conditions, but what of those mages without familial ties?”

He strummed her fingers on the tabletop. “Those mages may leave and return only if they are assisting in the very same efforts.”

Ciri stood. “Excellent. I accept. Thank you, your majesty.” Realizing she owed the king at least a few answers, she apologized and sat on her chair. “What would you like to know?”


	7. What More Can I Do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri succeeded in her plan to recruit both the mages and the Templars. She expected a little gratitude or support, but received neither. Forced to endure the scrutiny and disapproval of the war council, Ciri is grateful for Ketek's suggestion of a break.

By the second hour of admonishments and debriefing, Ciri had grown weary. “I don’t understand why this is such a problem,” she said. “All of you were undecided between the mages and Templars. I brought you both.”

Cassandra grumbled, stepping from her leaning stance against the wall. “It was an undisciplined and reckless decision.”

“Be that as it may, it worked,” said Ciri without bothering to hide her disdain.

There was no mistaking the ire in Cassandra’s disapproval. Her scoff made it clear enough to Ciri. _She still doesn’t trust me._ Before Ciri could engage in yet another test of wills, Leliana intervened.

“It was a bold move, but in addition to the Breach, we have the mages _and_ the Templars to contend with—neither is amicable to the other.”

Ciri huffed the hair from her eyes. “And the inability to act like adults is my fault? You wanted the mages, Leliana.” She turned her attention to Commander Cullen. “And you, Commander, wanted the Templars' aid. I delivered. Sorting this lot out is your business.”

She realized the rudeness in her tone, but silently refused to apologize. Only Josephine seemed mildly amused and suggested a rest. Ciri almost snapped back but recognized the concern in her tone.

“Thank you, Josephine. I will,” Ciri said before leaving the war room. 

Careful to close the door without slamming it, Ciri relaxed the moment Ketek stepped in her path. “You need a break. Evelyn will talk with Cullen and I’ll smooth things over with Lady Cassandra and Leliana.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s more than that, Ketek. I’m—”

Ketek cut her off with a whisper. “Not here. Follow me.” He led Ciri along the paths until they reached the frozen lake. “This way.” He pointed out in the woods. “It’s not the most direct route, but most will think we just want a little private time.” He tossed an exaggerated wink which made her laugh despite her mood.

“Thank you for that,” she said with a sigh. “It seems no matter the success, I’m reckless or wrong.”

“Not that I’m defending Cassandra but look at it from her perspective. Neither she nor Leliana were there when Justina needed them most,” Ketek began. “I failed. I was supposed to keep the peace and instead—”

This time Ciri interrupted him, pulling him to a stop. “You didn’t know. It wasn’t your fault.” Her eye shifted to the snow-covered ground. “Maybe I should have tried to save her, instead of just gawking at the scene. Maybe then, everything would be different.”

“I’m damned grateful for you, Ciri. I would have died in there along with the others. We all feel that way.” He rested his hands on her shoulders, and hesitated, as if there was more he wanted to say. Ketek must have reconsidered whatever it was and released her. “We should keep going, before they think I ran away with you.” He laughed, but it was the furthest from his genuine laughter she’d heard since meeting him.

“Who?” Ciri guessed it was likely Evelyn and Malika. Along with Ketek, the three of them seemed tighter over the past months.

With the slightest hint of a tease in his tone, he answered. “You’ll see.”

l-l-l

Ketek refused to answer any more questions as he led Ciri in a roundabout trek through the woods. He didn’t speak again until they came upon a cabin almost hidden by trees and rocks. “I found this place when Adan asked me for a little help.”

Ciri grimaced. _I have no idea who that is_ , she thought. _Better to ask_. “And who is Adan again?”

“The apothecary. He’s tucked in between Solas cabin and the one we gave to Dorian.”

She shook her head slowly. “I guess I really need to get out more.”

“Yeah. That’s one reason we’re out this far,” Ketek said, knocking on the cabin door.

The door opened, and Malika Cadash crossed her arms. “About fucking time.”

Almost immediately, Ketek stepped protectively in front of Ciri. “Hey. Play nice.”

Malika scoffed and moved aside. “Look. If the merc didn’t frighten me with all his posturing, neither will you.” She jerked her head indicating further inside the cabin. “You said you’d be right back. Its been what? An hour or two?”

Varric’s gravelly laugh brought him into the conversation. “Try half an hour and maybe a little bit more patience.” Malika slipped a few expletives toward Varric, moving aside. Ciri followed.

“I was stuck in the Chantry.”

At Ciri’s admission, Malika’s eyes narrowed. “What is it this time? Cassandra’s knickers too tight?”

It was Varric who answered her. “Careful of the Seeker, Shifty.”

Waving his warning aside, Malika sat on top of a small table. “I can handle her.”

While the conversation between Varric and Malika continued, Ciri took a moment to take in all those crammed into the cabin. Dorian sat near Evelyn, although their chairs were still a fair distance apart. Another qunari, even larger than Ketek leaned in his chair, flanked by a small group. _That must be the one Ellana mentioned she found. Bull something or other._ Near Malika’s table, a blonde elf toyed with an arrow. _And that must be Sera_. _I remember Ketek telling me about her._

A sudden silence alerted Ciri to the group’s attention squarely placed on her _. I did it again, didn’t I?_ She smiled; quickly apologizing for her lack of focus. “Is there a reason we’re meeting all the way out here?”

When no one answered, Ciri looked to Ketek for clarification. “Did everyone hear the war council?”

Varric nodded. “Pretty much.”

 _Wonderful_ , she thought, _nothing like diminishing any credibility I might possess. Now what?_ Ciri noted Dorian’s attention. The slow nodding of his head meant to convey something, but she couldn’t be sure. “I should apologize, but then again, I think that’s all I’ve done for weeks.” _In fact_ , she continued silently, _it’s no different here from when I was home. At least they’ve not found me yet._ She quickly put the Hunt from her thoughts, even the brief consideration of them conjured horrible images of what they might do to Thedas.

“At least they’ve not found me yet,” said a gentle voice nearby. The precise recitation chilled her.

Ciri stood rigid; her eyes darted around the room. “What? Who said that?” 

_“The Wolf's Blizzard approaches, the time of the sword and axe. The Time of the White Frost and White Light, the Time of Madness—”_

“Stop!” Ciri yelled, seeking the source of those infernal words. A young man rested against the far wall, the wide brim of his hat obscuring all but his chin. She quieted her voice and pleaded with him. “ _Please_.”

Varric’s voice cut in, gentle and direct. “Cole.”

From his spot against the wall, the young man answered. “I can help. I want to help.”

She disagreed. “I. . . that is. . .thank you just the same. I am. . .it doesn’t matter.” It was too late, she’d not spoken of the Hunt specifically, perhaps out of concern in doing so, she might summon them to this world. Those gathered stared at her with a mixture of concern and disbelief.

“That’s the first time you’ve shown any emotion, my dear. What troubles you so?”

 _Lady Vivienne_ , Ciri recalled, _she’s a formidable sorceress according to Evelyn._ She was lovely, stately even. She held a rank of some importance, but Ciri couldn’t remember what exactly.

 _It’s almost as if she stepped out of my memories._ There wasn’t time to dwell on the tales of the warrior women of Zerrikania now; despite the images the thoughts conjured for her. Wild animals roamed scorching deserts and unforgiving terrain inhabited by warrior women of the sands. Their dark skin tattooed and marked with their triumphs, fearlessly defending their homes. The days of stories and fanciful dreams had ended. 

“I. . .I apologize. There are. . .things that should not be spoken. Forgive my outburst. Cole, is it? I appreciate your offer of help.” She gave a slight bow to Vivienne. “I thank you for your concern.”

Vivienne responded almost immediately. “For someone so young, you speak with the all the certainty of one who knows the value of silence. However, if you are most certain there is nothing to be done?”

 _I’ve got to steer this conversation from me and onto what happens next for Haven._ “Actually,” Ciri began. “I would be grateful to any of you who might have suggestions as to how we proceed.” She walked among them, taking time to meet the eyes of all gathered. “We have the support of the mages and the Templars, but what now? What's next?”

“Close the Breach, naturally,” offered Dorian. “Let the mages help you.”

Bull coughed from his chair. “Aren’t you forgetting something? The Templars shouldn’t be left out of this. Never know what might happen with so many mages in one spot.”

The conversation degenerated into squabbles and counterpoints until Ciri rubbed her temples in frustration. _So, it’s no better here. This was the same problem with the others,_ Ciri thought, considering the disagreements in the war room. She’d not wanted another argument of mages versus Templars. _What I need is an answer that works._

Frustration bubbled up from within her. “Why must everything be just so? What of compromise for what is best?” She turned on Ketek. “Ever since I arrived its been the same, one against the other. How do we heal a place that thrives on this unending rivalry?”

“Give them a reason to stop,” Bull offered with a shrug. “The problem is easy to see. No one is leading. You’ve got the Inquisition but no Inquisitor.”

Ciri sighed. “You’re right, of course. Who should lead then?” Her question met with absolute silence and wide-eyed stares, the implication suddenly clear. “Me? Oh no. I don’t. . .that is. . .no, just. . .no.”

Light laughter and a few nodding heads preceded a small chorus of reassurances and support from all corners of the cabin. It was Varric who answered for the group. “You’ve got the glowing hand; I’d say that puts you first in line.”

Staring at her palm, Ciri disagreed. “Whatever this mark may be, hardly signifies leadership potential.”

“Perhaps,” Vivienne replied. “You cannot deny it is the mark which has opened doors and granted us our victories thus far.”

“Such as they are,” Ciri replied and then realized how she must have sounded to those gathered. “I appreciate all you have done, but I am still unsure.”

Varric shrugged. “You know what? I think if you do what we talked about—you know—stop trying to fix everything on your own and talk to us? You might find we know a thing or two about a thing or two.” A round of light laughter rose from the companions. “Except Tiny, of course, him you just point in the direction of something you want smashed to bits.”

The laughter grew louder and even Ciri found it near impossible to resist. “Tiny?”

“That’d be me,” said Bull with more than a little consternation. “Varric has a thing for irony.”

“I’ll say.” Ciri turned her attention to Varric. “Have I earned such name yet?”

“Nah,” Varric replied. “Give it time, Your Worshipfulness, I’ll think of something.”

l-l-l

By the time they left the cabin, Ciri felt lighter, and more importantly a part of the fledgling Inquisition. They talked at length about strategies, suggestions, and even managed a few hands of cards.

“Thank you, Ketek,” Ciri said softly. “You’ve been there for me more than once, and its high time I thank you. So, thank you most kindly.”

“I’m worried about you,” he said, and quickly coughed. “I mean we all are.”

She hid a grin. _He’s sweet_ , she thought, _he flirts mercilessly on occasion, but then something heartfelt and he’s suddenly shy? Rather endearing._

They continued along the path, strolling slowly, the scent of fresh cut pine wood lingering on a light wind. Ciri sighed, her eyes drawn to the clearing night sky. “It is lovely here.”

Ketek hummed, the sound almost absent minded, his attention elsewhere.

“Is something wrong?”

He nodded. “Yeah. See those flashes of light up ahead? That concerns me.” He stopped, crossed in front of her and scaled a boulder. She caught the muttered curse before he jumped down. “Let’s go.”

She couldn’t see anything as Ketek described, but her curiosity sped her steps at first, until she needed to move even faster to keep pace. “What is it?”

“I’d wager it’s another disagreement between a mage and Templar, its been nearly a half a day without someone fighting—I’d say we’re about due.”

They rushed through the gate to find a small group squaring off against one another. Two against two they stood, strangled words passing between them.

Ciri broke in a sprint and shifted ahead, blinking faster and faster to split them up. “I have had enough of this,” she said, voice raised in frustration and laced with fatigue. “If you’re so set to injure one another, you’ll have to go through me.”

Ketek tried reason, but Ciri ignored him. “Not this time. I’ll not have such childishness here. Get help and bring Fiona and Cullen here.” When he didn’t move at first, Ciri’s aggravation tumbled out. “Now.”

Without a sword she stood little chance against the Templars, but alone against them and two mages? _What the hell am I going to do? Scold them into retreating?_


	8. Enemy At The Gates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri and company return to Haven. Despite the widespread revelry and joy, Ciri carries a quiet unease shared by some of her companions. For three nights, those gathered celebrated their victory, and for three nights Ciri sought answers to her concerns. A turn on the lookout tower provides a sobering truth. They are not alone. The enemy comes.

Ciri didn’t flinch amid the shouting and posturing. She stood arms outstretched between the Templars and mages who seemed determined the other had caused a grievous offense. _So much for leading anyone_ , she thought. _There’s got to be a way out of this without bloodshed._ It wasn’t so much a memory; a remembrance of a story sparking an idea. Two siblings allowed a spiteful boast to get the better of them. A sparring session turned sour, resulting in scars earned in stubbornness. _If they want so badly to kill the other, let them._ That was their father’s decision. She could try it. _It might work._

Her arms dropped, and she shook her head. “Well, it seems you’ve made up your mind.” Ciri stepped back, and with a sweeping gesture, invited them to commence. “If you must destroy one another, go ahead. It’s four fewer mouths to feed and four less hot-headed headaches.” She sat down a fair distance from the group and waved them on. “Go on then. I’ll wait.”

For more than a handful of minutes, confusion descended and not one of the four moved an inch. Ciri made sure to keep her eyes averted. Refusing to give them another glance, she tore at several long blades of grass.

Approaching footfalls and shouts to stand down carried through the trees. Ketek had returned with Cullen, Fiona, and even Cassandra, none more surprised at Ciri pulling tall grass and braiding it together instead of holding the fight.

Cassandra stepped between the four. “What is the meaning of this?”

When no one answered, Ciri rose to her feet and shrugged. “More of the usual, I’m afraid.”

Eyes narrowed as Cassandra turned her scorn at the Templars first. “What is it this time?” She wheeled to face the mages. “What will it take to have you work together?”

“I think you should let them have at it,” Ciri said, crossing her arms. “Even if we lose these four, do we have enough to close the Breach?” Keeping a straight face proved difficult, especially when she was almost sure a moment of amusement crossed Cassandra’s face.

The moment passed too quickly, aided by Cassandra’s quick turn away from Ciri. “While we need as many as are willing to aid you, the loss of four should have no lasting impact. Carry on,” Cassandra said, and without another word, she backed off. 

Incredulous gasps and counter arguments began, but Ciri remained firm. Behind her, Ketek’s low chuckle threatened to break her stoic stare, knowing he had caught on to the ruse. Someone approached and she was not shocked to hear the quieted baritone of Commander Cullen.

“My lady Herald,” he began, cleared his throat, and continued. “Apologies, Ciri,” he corrected himself without her prompting. “Might I have a word?”

Ciri had spoken with the Commander one on one fewer times than she had fingers. Evelyn had established quite the rapport with him, and Ciri believed it best to help foster their trust by leaving any communication in Evelyn’s capable hands.

“Of course.” She followed his lead, taking at least a dozen steps away from the clearing. “Something on your mind, Commander?” She didn’t want to challenge him, and hoped her light tone conveyed as much.

“I am concerned condoning such skirmishes might be seen poorly. I would not contradict your decision but ask that the consequences be considered.”

Ciri felt no intimidation as to his suggestion. “Truth be told, Commander. I would prefer this infighting end.”

“Precisely,” he replied with a sigh. Ciri wondered if her honesty had been unexpected. His brow creased as if he worked through something silently; she’d noted his contemplative method on other occasions. She guessed that with such an opinionated council, his responses were often carefully crafted. “Why then did you encourage the lot of them? It makes little sense to goad them on, knowing both sides can barely draw breath with any measure of civility.”

“I suppose I’d hoped the absurdity might stop the four of them.”

Cullen had a way of looking at people sideways when he didn’t agree. She’d seen it time and again during council meetings, but he’d never used it with her—until now.

“I see. While an interesting solution, we should avoid such confrontations. Collectively our focus should be on the Breach.”

She resisted the urge to smile or laugh. _Cullen certainly has a far different take on scolding me compared to the others. I should apologize, or at least try to assure him of my intentions._ She nodded once. “Quite right. But at the risk of leaving those four to pummel one another, what would you suggest?”

Cullen pressed his lips together and raised a single brow slowly. “I may have a solution. I suggest something not altogether different, rather a test of mettle—one that might benefit all. With your permission, of course.”

Eager to see how a seasoned leader would approach the problem, Ciri agreed. “Of course, after you.”

A direct path toward the group caused the four to stand apart. Turning on his heel, Cullen gripped the hilt of his sword and paced before the combatants. “There is no place for such behaviors here. The Inquisition requires discipline and fealty to our cause. You four are released.”

In an instant, arguments and refusals grew in volume, each seeking to explain themselves, but Cullen held up a hand to silence them. 

Two stepped forward, a Templar and a mage.

“My lady Herald,” began the Templar. “I will accept responsibility for this unfortunate incident. To lose even these few when we know not what waits? Allow the rest to remain, and I will accept whatever punishment you deem necessary.”

The other disagreed. “I cannot allow this,” said the mage. “The fault was mine. Allow the others to remain in service.”

Cullen’s expression remained stoic, but Ciri couldn’t help but notice Cassandra’s questioning gaze. Fiona asked after Ciri’s intentions.

“What will you do?”

 _Excellent question_ , Ciri thought. Both sought to carry the blame for their actions. The arguing between the factions hadn’t ceased. The fighting stopped whenever someone intervened, but more often it began again within a few hours.

Cullen expressed his opinion first. “We cannot allow such behaviors in the Inquisition. There is too much at stake for petty squabbles and discord.”

“Agreed, Commander,” Cassandra replied. “I believe the decision is yours.” She stared at Ciri, but there was no harshness in her tone or eyes.

Ciri sighed. “Well, we leave for the Breach at dawn. I’m afraid the loss of even a few might make the task all the more difficult. Yet, if you four cannot share the same walking path, how will you ever join against the Breach?”

The mage stepped forward. “Let us fight with you, my lady. We swear to lend our strength to yours.”

“As will we,” said the Templar. “Our swords are yours.”

The others nodded and expressed their agreements, offering apologies and oaths of dedication to the Inquisition’s cause. Cullen sent the Templars to their camp first, followed by Fiona’s assurances there would be no further arguments from those she’d brought with her.

Cassandra and Cullen stood at Ciri’s side as the other departed. They watched without speaking until the group moved out of sight. It was Cassandra who broke the silence.

“You handled that well,” she said. “I will admit I may not have been as lenient, but I cannot deny the need for any who are willing to fight. It was the proper path.”

“Thank you, but the credit belongs to Commander Cullen. Had he not set the consequence first, I’m not sure I would have had a path to take.”

Cullen scratched the back of his neck. “Yes, well. It seemed a logical choice, and if it served, then I am glad for it. The petty bickering has gone on far too long.”

Cassandra hummed in agreement. “Tell me Ciri. Are you prepared for what follows?”

That dreaded question. Ciri knew it would come. _Am I ready? I don’t know. I hardly think it matters; it’s not like I have a choice._ Rather than admit to her concern, Ciri answered in the affirmative. “As I’ll ever be.”

l-l-l

Music played and people danced amid congratulations and thanks from the moment Ciri and her companions returned to Haven—and it troubled her. Her stomach turned over more than once at the smell of roasted something or other, and despite the levity around her Ciri longed for silence.

She sat on a crate near Leliana’s tent. There was something comforting in listening to her talk with her scouts, directing movements and planned missions set to begin post revelry. It wasn’t surprising at all to hear Leliana’s quieted voice.

“Had enough so soon?”

Ciri nodded. “I’m afraid so,” she said, tossing in a half-smile for good measure. “A touch of homesickness, nothing serious.”

“Ah, I see.”

“I mean, it’s all right,” she said, gesturing toward a group who’d moved their dance circle closer to the Chantry. “I understand why they’re happy.”

“But—”

She stood and faced Leliana, allowing a little of her disquiet to flow. “It was all too easy. Not entirely, of course. Without the help of the mages and Templars, I don’t think I could have succeeded. This can’t be all there is.” Leliana said nothing, but Ciri didn’t stop. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m looking at this through the eyes of a skeptic. I can’t explain why, but I don’t think this is over.”

Before she finished, Cassandra and Ketek approached them. “You are not wrong,” Cassandra began, her eyes scanning the area. “I happen to agree with you. While your concerns are valid, we can remain vigilant and allow the others their moment of joy.”

 _Right, don’t mind me_ , thought Ciri. _This isn’t the end._ She shivered.

Ketek shifted closer to her. “Maybe we should get out of the cold before it gets dark. Warm up a bit.”

“It’s not the cold, this isn’t so bad, I’ve felt worse.” She cringed a bit at the absent-minded admission. _Nothing like the Hunt_. She’d almost said it. Almost spoken of them aloud—that act would have invited her pursuers to resume tracking her. _Change the subject before you dig a new hole._ Shaking her hands out, she clapped them once. “I _could_ eat,” she began, “if you’re buying.”

If he had read any part of her distress, Ketek showed no concern and laughed. “I see how it is. As it happens, I am buying—this time,” he said, leading Ciri toward the footpath.

Cassandra scoffed. “You know we do not expect payment for food. Don’t perpetuate the myth that we squeeze every coin from those in the Inquisition.”

“It was a jest, Cassandra. Of course, they know,” replied Leliana.

Leaving the others behind, it didn’t take long for Ketek to change his jovial tone. “You’re not wrong,” he said. The revelers parted, clearing the path, some taking the time to thank Ciri. It wasn’t until they’d turned the corner toward the Singing Maiden’s entrance that he spoke again. “Call it whatever you want, but whatever caused the explosion at the conclave had to have someone behind it.”

She nodded in agreement, following Ketek to a table in the corner. Ciri glanced around the room. Conversations and laughter fell in waves so loud, she doubted anyone would take notice. “All right, so what’s next? What do you think?” Pausing, Ciri explained. “I’m used to looking out for myself, I could use some advice.”

Ketek leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Well, you sure fooled me. So far, you’ve managed to keep people safe and get the mages and Templars aid. That’s something, Ciri.”

Ciri couldn’t help the sigh that left her. “But for how long?”

l-l-l

By the third night of celebrations, Ciri had tired of it all. _Take nothing for granted_. That’s what she’d been taught. She’d learned to look over her shoulder while remaining alert since she was young. It was this alertness that drove her to stand watch on the right viewing tower with several sentries, despite the uncertainty. 

Treetops swayed in the gusts coming off the mountains; tiny pinpricks of frozen rain stung her cheeks. _It’s dark in the forest, as it should be,_ she thought. Ciri scanned the trees and the spaces between them. “I don’t know what I’m looking for,” she muttered. Her eyes traveled toward the frozen lake, its frosted surface reflecting the moonlight. She saw a pair of shadows move across it at the same time as the sentry standing with her.

The elven archer did not draw his bow. “They’re ours, the last scouts expected for this watch.” He paused, and his tone changed, almost questioning what he saw. “That’s odd. Both are in quite the hurry given the late hour.” When Ciri faced him, he explained. “We’re taught to remain hidden—but look,” he said, pointing at the pair running across the ice. “Neither seek cover, they want our attention.”

“Is it a warning?”

He shifted the bow from his shoulder to his hand. “I don’t know. I should report this.”

Ciri instructed the archer to remain. “I’ll go.”

l-l-l

Cassandra slammed a folio on the war table, her dark gaze boring into Ketek’s eyes. “I care little for excuses, I asked you to watch her. Based on your attitude, I assumed this would not be difficult.”

He inhaled sharply, but instead of biting back, Ketek swallowed his aggravation. _Don’t do it_ , he cautioned silently. _That’s frustration. Just let it go._ Anyone could read Lady Cassandra’s mood over the past few days. She greatly disapproved of the levity in Haven; her scoffs of disdain unleashed whenever she moved among those gathered. It wasn’t worth an argument to point out he’d checked on Ciri several hours before the night watch and had reported the very same to her not an hour before she summoned him to the counsel room. He also knew Cassandra wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but he couldn’t leave her challenge unanswered.

Ketek didn’t shy from Cassandra’s scrutiny, but kept all animosity and his usual sarcasm out of his words. “Ciri took a sentry post, she’s at the forward lookout.” A guess on his part. Ketek figured a guess far better than a shrug or denial. Ciri hadn’t explained her plans for the evening, and he hadn’t pressed. All she had said suggested a similar frustration to what he now witnessed. _‘The truth is? I’m not sure what we do next. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. The night air is just what I need to think.’_

He promised Cassandra he’d check in at the lookout tower.

“Good.” Cassandra’s attention remained on the war table, but she continued to speak to him. “If it eases your concern, I do not believe the lady is complicit regarding the events of the conclave. The loyalty and sincerity of your group is to be commended.” 

_But you still refuse to trust Ciri. I can hear it in your voice._ Pressing his lips together, Ketek held back his thoughts. “Thank you, Seeker Pentaghast. If there’s nothing else, I should go.”

“Yes,” she replied with equal formality before she returned her complete attention to the map beneath her hands.

It was useless to even attempt to talk with Cassandra. She’d been curt and dismissive since they arrived in Haven. The hundredth apology forming in his head had to be dismissed. He turned and left the room, closing the door. _She doesn’t want to hear another apology. We both know what happened. If Ciri hadn’t helped, I’d have died, too._

Ketek was so lost in his thoughts he almost missed a figure partially hidden in shadow to his left. The figure leaned against the wall, watching him walk through the Chantry. A quick stride followed him out of the main doors and halted just behind him.

“Let me guess.” Malika’s venom and dislike of the Seeker flowed freely. “We’re all to blame and should be locked up.”

He turned to face her, shaking his head. “No. This was about. . .it doesn’t matter. I thought you were leaving.”

Malika’s feigned attempt at a shrug of indifference nearly made Ketek smile. She followed with an exaggerated sigh. “Nah. I figure it’s better to stick around, you know?” She tapped the side of her nose. “My stone sense is telling me to stay put.”

His brow raised, questioning her. “Your. . .stone. . .what? I thought you surface—”

Cutting him off, Malika interrupted. “It’s an old saying. It means you’re not getting rid of me yet. Besides, you never know when my particular talents might be needed.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “I don’t think thievery and lockpicking are in great demand here.”

Scowling, she huffed. “I have certain talents that require secrecy. You make me out to be some kind of criminal.”

Ketek leaned toward her. “And?”

Malika lifted her hands. “Hey! I haven’t done anything.”

“Lately,” he retorted. Something changed in Malika’s expression. Her eyes focused on something behind him. “What?” He straightened, turning to locate what had caught her attention. “What’s going on?”

Slow steps carried her in front of him. “I’m not sure. There’s a lot of commotion on the path to the gate.” As if to answer Ketek’s question, the signal bell began to ring. “Shit,” Malika hissed. “Not good.”

“Get the Seeker and then find the others,” he said. Ketek started to run, turned back and shouted, “Meet me at the gate! Hurry!” He thought Malika had shouted back, but Ketek couldn’t hear. _I’ve got to find Ciri_ , he thought. 

Whoever rang the bell was pulling the cord repeatedly, its clanging often interrupted by a clunk. He passed scouts and soldiers, barely catching snippets of conversation. _Someone’s marching on Haven._

At the gate, Cullen shouted his orders, but the frenzy Ketek had witnessed wasn’t present in the Inquisition’s commander.

“You five to the west! You three protect their right flank! If you’re skilled with a bow, get to the towers!” Group after group presented for his orders; and with precision and few words he had the bulk of the soldiers assigned. Ketek pushed through. “How can I help?”

“Ah, it’s you. We don’t know what we’re facing yet. The boy—Cole—he tried to explain. He’s with Dorian and Lady Ciri now.” Cullen pointed toward the mountain range to their left. “There’s a line of torches. Two scouts reported a sizeable force headed this way. Multiple waves of smaller groups, but the largest group hasn’t reached the mountain yet. If you could help decipher what this Cole is trying to say, we might be able to prepare for the coming siege.”

“I will.” Haven was poorly situated for a siege. If they did nothing other than defend their position, any possibility of escape would be cut off. “We’re trapped if we stay.”

Cullen sighed. “And yet we risk more lives in an evacuation. Lady Evelyn is with the soldiers near the trebuchets and your elven companion took a group of archers to scale several structures as well as provide cover.”

“Ellana is still here?”

Cullen nodded. “Yes, she was the first to gather a group and prepare. We’ve enough to meet a moderate foe.”

While they spoke, Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine arrived with Malika at the lead. “I found them all, Ketek. What’s going on?”

This wasn’t his call, and Ketek knew it. Even though Malika had directed the question to him, Ketek wasn’t responsible for the Inquisition’s soldiers or solutions. He addressed Cullen. “Commander?”

While Cullen explained the situation, Malika shuffled behind Ketek. “This is bad. There’s no way out if we stay,” she whispered.

“I know,” replied Ketek. “I won’t ask you to remain, but I could, I mean _we_ could use your help.”

She checked her daggers and a few small throwing knives in her belt. “I’m not running. What do you need?”

“Check the dwellings. If you find civilians, get them to the Chantry.”

Nodding in agreement, Malika took off running. She was right. They were a few hours away from a full siege. Even with the Templars, mages and soldiers, there was a strong possibility they were outnumbered. While the small group discussed their options, Ketek left in search of Ciri and Cole.

 _He’s odd, but if he knows who we might face, I don’t care_. It didn’t take long for Ketek to find them. The young man with the wide-brimmed hat paced in front of Ciri. He’d followed Evelyn to Haven from Therinfal, but no one was quite sure how.

“He’s very angry,” Cole said, his agitation pushing out with every word.

Ciri, for her part, kept her voice even and controlled. “Who is angry, Cole? How do you know?”

“The Elder One. You took his Templars, and then you took his mages before he could prepare his army.”

Ketek joined them. “His army? Then who approaches?”

Cole exhaled. “Those he had gathered before your arrival,” he said to Ciri with a nod. “The red Templars, they’re numbers were only a part of his original plan. You stopped the rest.”

“And the Venatori?”

It was only then Ketek realized who else stood with Ciri. When Dorian shifted into the conversation, Ketek noted that Varric and The Iron Bull had been with her.

Dorian spoke first. “We faced the Venatori at Redcliffe when we fought Alexius. What troubles me is the very idea they are working with the Templars, it doesn’t quite fit with the sad, misguided truth of their goals.”

“Come on Sparkler, don’t leave it just hanging there,” Varric countered. “Makes sense to me. If they want to win, why not ally with the Templars?”

“Why not? Really Varric, apparently, I was wrong about your keen insight into others,” Dorian replied. “No self-respecting mage from Tevinter would allow a Templar from the south to fight for them. It’d be an embarrassment, even if the lot of them _are_ quite mad.” 

The group began talking over one another until Ciri raised her hands to her temples, fingers tapping the top of her head. “All right. All right. We’ve fought both. We can do this. What do we know of this Elder One?”

Ketek frowned. _If we’re going to do this, we can’t be divided. “_ This isn’t right. Before we make plans and moves, we’ve got to involve Cullen and the others.” 

He noted the uncertainty in Ciri’s face, and despite the way the hint of vulnerability tugged at him, he hoped she understood he wasn’t questioning her effectiveness. “Right,” she said. “We should find him.”

Ciri and Ketek led the group up the path, and were met halfway by Malika, Cullen, and Cassandra. Before they could speak a cry of warning called them back to the gates. Ketek scaled the lookout tower with Ciri and Cullen behind him. A small group of armor-clad warriors advanced. “I count just shy of twenty. Warriors with sword and shields, maybe a few mages.”

Ketek saw the streak from the corner of his eye. “Wait!” Ciri had made it down the ladder and to the gate before Ketek’s boots hit the ground. The large axe at his back slowed him considerably. _Might have to rethink the weapon if all I’m going to do is chase after Ciri._

She struggled to lift the wood from its slat, and Ketek wasted no time in helping her. “Here, let me.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He was surprised at how composed she appeared to be, but he wondered if the same uncertainty and concern that occupied his thoughts were present in hers. “I’ve got your back. Just. . .don’t stray too far, all right?”

She agreed. “It’s looks like we’ll have help, too,” she said, pointing behind him.

He couldn’t quite name the feeling moving through him. Relief, perhaps. Maybe knowing there were more of them to face the approaching foes set him at ease. Bull helped him work the wood beam free. “All right, kid,” Bull began, “most kills win. Loser buys.”

Ketek squared his shoulders. He’d heard bits and pieces from Bull’s mercs about Ketek and the fiasco at the temple. And the chance to redeem himself proved tempting. “Deal.”

Ciri pulled at the door, her hands barely reaching around the handle. “I’m. . .in,” she said with a grunt, the door finally moving a little.

“Wait, no. I’m not doing this,” Ketek tried to back out. He didn’t want to show her up.

“Too late!” She grinned through the exertion and managed the move the tower gate a bit more. Her boot heels dug into the dirt, but Ciri kept going until the door swung inward even more. “Hope you both have deep pockets!” And with that she was gone, the streak of light revealed her course, right into the path of the oncoming invaders. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please note there will be deviations from Witcher Canon in order to fit Ciri into Thedas. Let me know what you think and thank you for reading! Will update every 2 weeks.


End file.
